Eyes Like the Sea
by PrideandProzac
Summary: AU: Emma just wants to get to know her parents, but after rooming with a certain man with ocean blue eyes and a smirk to die for, things get a little more complicated. Will these two broken people be able to set aside their pasts to love? Sometimes all you have to do is try and love handles the rest.
1. Killian & Emma

_**Hey everyone! This is an AU Captain Swan story that I've been thinking of for a while. There's no magic, but plenty of CS feels on the way. Hope you enjoy!**_

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**Chapter 1: Killian & Emma**

"I love you, Killian, but I love going from place to place, too. That's why you need to come with me!"

"But Milah, love… We have the chance to settle down! We can start a family, isn't that what you want?" said Killian with desperation in his voice.

"Of course…" she lied, "Of course I want you, my love, but I want us to live our lives! See the world! Experience it all—every last bit of it—together."

"Milah, come now, it's time that we start thinking about the future. We can't keep living this way." The truth was that there was a part of Killian that feared he_ would_ have to live this way just to be with her, but he was going to try to convince her otherwise.

He had met Milah in a bar one night. She had told him that she just left whatever shred of home she had one day to travel, and he? Well, he was just the lucky bloke that happened to accompany her thereafter. The first time she pulled him to dance with her was the moment he swore that he would give her the world and more. She was mesmerizing—dark curls swinging as she twirled around and around; her eyes reflecting the golden glow of the campfire; and her skirts fluttering around her.

Yes, it was a magical night with this magical creature—filled with music, drinks, and tall tales of her travels. It was a night that Killian would never forget, yet here he was, practically scaring his little bird by suggesting they leave their merry band of nomads and take to a cage they could call home.

"Here's what we'll do," he tried to compromise, "Pick a place—any place! Brazil, Spain, America, Australia, bloody Antarctica for all I care—just pick any place you want and we can make a proper home _together_."

"I've always wanted to travel to America…"

"Big city life, too! So many cities to choose from! Just take your pick."

"New York is definitely exciting…"

"Okay!" He gripped her shoulders, a wide spread grin full of false hope on his face, "We'll go to New York, not exactly the best place to raise a child, but we don't have to stay there forever. It'll be great, Milah, trust me. You won't regret it." He kissed her forehead, too enthralled by the thought of them finally starting their future together.

Not that Killian didn't enjoy their travels, he had seen far more than many men at his age, but his love for Milah was the most intense feeling he'd ever let consume him. He wanted a family, a little boy or girl with their mother's beautiful eyes running around the kitchen while they cooked breakfast in an actual house—_their_ house.

He wanted to live by the sea like in his hometown, work on the docks—a proper job—and come home to Milah painting with the children. Her paintings were truly wonderful. She was so talented; she could capture the smells, atmosphere, and life around her in just colors and brush strokes. Killian wanted more for her, to show her a life that had been taken from him when he was far too young; when his mother had passed and his father let himself waste away in a pool of whiskey. He wanted to build her a studio, give her a home!

'_Everyone should experience it once and I'll show her just how wonderful it can be,'_ he thought, but that's not what Milah wanted.

Or maybe she did.

Maybe she was scared of _not_ running—of staying in one place for too long, and that's why the next morning when Killian stretched his arm over her empty place in their motel bed, he found a note on the pillow; a note reading that she had gone, that she loved him, and that one day she would return to him.

~4 Years Later~

Emma Swan grew up a foster child. She moved from place to place—some of them definitely nicer than others—until she was eighteen, and then moved to a small studio that was hardly livable. But for Emma, it was home.

It was _her_ space and a chance for the life she'd always wanted, but she found it empty and most of all—_lonely_. It was just her for a very long time.

That is, until a strange man approached her in a diner one early morning after a horrible shift at the local club.

"Security, right?" said the man, dressed nicely in a grey suit and trench coat.

"I'm sorry?" she said exasperated. This was the last thing she needed after a night full of drunken fights and high heels being poorly aimed at her head.

"You're security detail, they'll be interested to hear that. _She _might be a little horrified—being the protective type and all."

"Excuse me? Who is _they?_" confusion clearly written all over her face. She gripped her coffee mug tightly, it was sturdy enough to do some damage, but she was doubtful that this man would make a scene in the diner. A woman in the city that never sleeps could never be too safe though.

The man sat across from Emma in her booth and ordered a coffee when the pretty young waitress approached. Emma continued to stare him down as the man shifted the contents of his briefcase around and pulled out a file reading "Emma Swan" and slid it to her.

"Have you been following me?" she said in a lethal voice, feeling violated and panicked.

"I have. For my clients." He thanked the waitress who gave him a lingering smile while he added some packets of sugar and took a sip; all the while, Emma waited for him to elaborate.

"And who would be these _clients?_" Emma gritted through her teeth. This guy was clearly looking to have his face bashed in with her mug.

"Your mother and father."

Emma felt her whole body tense up. Her _mother_ _and father?_ That's impossible, why would they look for her now? "Well that's bizarre considering I'm a grown adult." The man stared at her with a bored expression that said he had done this many times before. "I mean… Why would they look for me?! I'm twenty-eight, for Christ's sake."

"I've been looking for you, Emma Swan, for quite awhile. _They've_ been looking for you for quite a while—Mary Margaret and David Nolan, your birth parents—and they want to meet you."

Still stunned, Emma didn't know what to do. Her first instinct was to run away back to her studio apartment, but this man obviously knew where that was and it was safe to assume that her _parents_ did, too. She flipped carelessly through the file, papers spread across the table—a birth certificate, photos of her working, leaving her apartment, and through the diner window.

"I don't—I—" she stuttered.

"Look, kid," the man finally looked her in the eye. "I've been playing this game for a long time—dead beat parents looking to strike gold, jealous housewives, paranoid assholes wondering if their wives are really going to where they say there are, and these people," he removed a picture of a beautiful couple that possessed the very features that made up her own face. "These folks of yours are _good_ _people_. Honest and hardworking, and truly regretful for giving you up to the system."

Emma felt tears starting to sting her eyes. _'No, no, no. This wasn't happening. This wasn't real,'_ she told herself over and over again while staring up at the ceiling. "Oh my god. I can't believe this is happening to me," she said, blinking her eyes trying to will away the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She was tired, angry, hurt, nervous, and overwhelmed all at once.

"You have to remember, Emma Swan. Things were different back then. Look, I found you, I told you about your parents and I'm going to give you their contact information. I've got a letter here from your mother that you can _choose_ to read or _not._ It's your decision and that's the extent of my services to them, but I've seen the way you are, kid. Being alone isn't the way to live and who knows? You might end up one big happy family."

One big _happy_ family.

"They live in a small town in Maine, Storybrooke. And it's as quaint as a story, too. Different pace from this city, but it's nice. Anyway, they have a room at the local Inn and a plane ticket booked for you in case you decide to give them a chance."

"They're good people?" Emma's voice cracked with a vulnerability that let on her hope. It was the saddest thing that this man had ever heard in his entire career. He was reluctant to admit it, but the pretty blonde woman in front of him, tough as nails from what he's gathered, looked like a scared child who'd seen some horrors in her time.

"They're _very_ good people." He pushed a pale yellow envelope towards her, addressed, 'To Our Daughter,' and gave her an encouraging smile. Emma was tear-stained, eyes raw, and lip trembling. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and took in a deep breathe before the man continued, "Go meet your parents, Emma. Trust me. Take that flight. What do you have to lose?"

_Nothing._ She had nothing to lose.

_**2 Weeks Later**_

Emma made her way down the steps of her apartment and shoved her luggage into the trunk. This was it—she was going to Storybrooke.


	2. Storybrooke

_**Here's the new update. Hope you enjoy! :)**_

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**Chapter 2: Storybrooke**

**Two Years Ago**

Killian had returned back to his hometown for his father's funeral.

He wasn't surprised about his old man dying—it was the way he coped with his wife's death, by poisoning himself every day and every night. That man had neglected Killian almost his entire life, but it wasn't Killian's fault that he inherited his mother's eyes—such a deep blue it nearly brought his father to tears looking at him.

Despite all this, Killian paid his respects and attended the sadly vacant wake. The first few rows were made up of his drinking buddies, a few women his father had entertained over the years, and then Killian's best friend Graham whom he had abandoned for a life outside this minute coastal town. The funeral was brief and the old man's resting place was saturated with enough bottles of whiskey and rum to last him well into his afterlife.

Killian stared at his old friend; he was definitely not the awkward boy he had spent his summers sneaking beers and nude-magazines with.

"Killian." Graham walked up beside him. "It's been a long time."

"Has it?" Killian said with a smirk. "How are you?"

"Oh you know. Same old." The two hugged like brothers reunited. Graham grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. "I missed you, you bastard! Come on." He slung one arm around Killian's shoulders. "Let's go get a drink. You look like you might need it."

At the pub, everyone took a moment of silence to remember Killian's father who apparently was a lot more attentive to his drinking crew than his own son, but the liveliness soon returned and everyone drank merrily on their precious Saturday nights off from the hustle and bustle of the week.

"So seriously, man. Where have you been?"

Killian took a long swig of his drink before setting it down with a clink, "Oh, you know, just touring Europe."

"Touring Europe. This guy," Graham repeated with a laugh. "Plenty of ladies, I assume."

Every ounce of light in Killian's eyes fled from his eyes. The wound Milah left on his heart was still raw and festering even two years later. "There was one… Milah, but I scared her off."

"Sorry, I don't—I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, no. It's alright. It is what it is," he said flatly. "Said she'd come back for me. A nice gesture on her part, saying she'll magically find me in this big world," his words dripped with bitter sarcasm.

"Then maybe there's someone else you're supposed to be with." Killian's head shot up, so Graham remedied it by saying, "There're plenty of fish out there that want to get hitched and settle down."

"Oh really, and you know this because you are…?" Killian jested, trying to snap himself out of the dark mood threatening to take over.

Graham did laugh though. He was deep in thought, silently staring at the amber liquid in his glass. He didn't know quite what to say or do except that he couldn't leave his best friend this way—orphaned, messed up over a girl. "Come with me to America. There's a job I've got lined up in New England. It's just a small town, but hey—it's a change, right?"

"And what's the name of this perfect little town?"

"Storybrooke," Graham said with a smile. Killian stared down at his glass, considering his friend's offer.

"To Storybrooke," he toasted.

* * *

**The Present**

Emma stared out the plane window as it descended to the tiny airport below. Walking into the terminal, she was met with a couple holding up a sign with her name on it. It was really unnecessary since they all looked so alike—she had her father's blonde hair; her mother's fair complexion; and her eyes, well, I guess her genes just didn't want to pick a side on that front and compromised to include both. They were definitely her parents.

All she had to do was walk towards them, and with measured steps, she walked.

The woman in front of her, her _mother,_ was in tears at the sight of her daughter, a beautiful woman now. Her father struggled to keep his composure, but his eyes brimmed with tears, too. Both were so enthralled to see their daughter that they didn't even realize how uncomfortable Emma was just standing there waiting for someone to say something.

"Uh, hi," was all Emma could assemble. It wasn't the warmest of greetings, but was returned with a enormously affectionate hug from Mary Margaret.

"Oh, Emma!" Mary Margaret blubbered over her daughters shoulder. "I've waited for this day for so long!" she cried. David moved to wrap both of them in his strong arms.

"You have no idea how much we appreciate you coming here, sweetheart," David choked out.

"Okay! Whoa! Okay! Um," Emma pushed away from them with little force. "A little personal space, please! Thanks," she said wide-eyed. She wanted to run again, run all the way back to her apartment. Confusion and hurt struck her parents' eyes, so she did her best to explain. "Look, uh, thank you, but I'm just—we need some time, you know?"

"Of course, of course." A sad smile returned to Mary Margaret's face as she released Emma from her embrace. "Well, welcome to Storybrooke, Emma." There was a noticeable emphasis on her name like Mary Margaret was cherishing it.

"Let's get you settled in? Long flight, it's late and all," David added reassuringly, hoping not to scare her away. "I guess we could start the reunion tomorrow!" David laughed awkwardly. She smiled, but her eyes betrayed her—she was still in shock at how much these two people looked like her and scared of all the affection they were ready to drop on her.

What had she gotten herself into?

At Granny's Diner & Inn, Emma promised to call David and Mary Margaret tomorrow after she recovered from her jetlag. Her parents did their best not to cry or hug Emma again while she gave them a small wave goodnight and retreated upstairs to her room. She felt so relieved to be alone—with no one watching her every move or expression. She didn't like feeling like she was under a microscope, but how else did she expect this all to go down? What was worse was that the next day it was sure to happen again.

The private investigator wasn't wrong though. These were good people and she'd daresay 'well-intentioned' aside from the fact that they had still given her away.

She wanted to know the truth and the way Mary Margaret had looked at her—with so much pain in her eyes—Emma could feel a tinge of tragedy in the air around the aged couple.

* * *

Graham sat behind his desk, on the phone at the sheriff's office in Storybrooke while Killian utilized the facility's showers and washed the scent of salty air from his hair. Storybrooke had been a kind enough place to him since he and Graham arrived two years ago and it did have its share of exquisitely beautiful women; however, Killian remained uninvolved and working near the sea on the docks as a supervisor.

He quickly ascended the ranks at the warehouse, befriending many of his co-workers—like Leroy, whom they had taken to nicknaming Grumpy. Mostly it was due to his workaholic nature; he worked early mornings and late nights and didn't have a family demanding his weekends off. The most he did with his time was practice his culinary skills at home or hang out with Graham, Grumpy, and a somewhat sketchier fellow named Jefferson at the local bar.

Tonight, however, Graham was being called away from their night out. "Yes, sir. Not a problem, I can cover for you tomorrow afternoon and night, too, if that would help… Of course, have a good night, sir." Graham hung up the phone and reclined back into his creaking chair.

"I take it guy's night has been cancelled," Killian said. His wet hair still dripping as he put on his coat.

"Yeah, sorry for the long call. The boss needs time off for a family thing; also, the older he gets, the more he likes to talk."

"Must be important if he's calling you at this hour."

"Well, the Nolans' long lost daughter has returned to Storybrooke."

"Hm… Was she really lost or trying to _stay_ lost?" Killian inquired.

Graham pressed his lips into a tight line, raised his eyebrows, and shrugged as if to say, 'Don't ask me!'

"Well, right then. I think I'll just call it a night and head home. Catch you another time."

"Alright. Killian—stay out of trouble! Don't want to have to arrest you tonight."

"Wrong night, mate!" Killian resentfully called from down the hall.

It _was_ the wrong night, but _the_ night was approaching and soon Killian would try to forget himself like the year before… and the year before… and the year before.


	3. Bourbon

_**Spoiler: Emma and Killian finally meet, yay! Happy reading**_

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**Chapter 3: Bourbon**

"Emma," Mary Margaret greeted with a perfect smile as she opened the door, again adding that little emphasis on her name like it was the most wonderful name in the world.

"That's me. Hi," Emma returned with a not quite as perfect smile, but still, it was a smile and she didn't look as scared as she had yesterday.

"Please, come in! Come in!"

"Look at this! I must be the luckiest man in the world, surrounded by two beautiful ladies so early in the morning!" David laughed from their spotless kitchen. He was wearing Mary Margaret's lace embroidered apron, sliding perfectly golden pancakes onto a plate. The spread was overwhelming: eggs—both scrambled and sunny-side up; hash browns and wedges; stacks of toast; pitchers of orange juice and milk. It was like a home-living catalog. Everything here was simply… Perfect.

Seeing Emma's reaction, Mary Margaret added, "We didn't know what you would prefer. We also can make waffles if you want! David is the best cook." She walked over to him and slipped her arm around his waist.

"Anything for my queen, Your Royal Loveliness."

"Oh you," she playfully pushed at his arm.

"It's, uh, beautiful, and don't worry, I'm good with pancakes." Emma cursed herself for sounding so stiff. Here she was with two of the nicest and most in love people she'd ever encountered and all she could do was stutter her way through short phrases about breakfast. Then again, no matter how perfect, they had still left her when she was born.

They all sat down to their banquet of breakfast foods while Mary Margaret and David chattered happily about the town and David's job as Sheriff. "Soon to be retired, though—very soon. Actually this is my last week and then Mary Margaret will have me all to herself."

"Oh stop, you know you want me to have you all to myself."

"That I do!" They both laughed in unison. It was so interesting to see how their movements, their mannerisms, and their teasing were so in sync. They were really a lovely couple. They were the parents Emma dreamed about all those nights nursing bruises so generously given to her by her foster parents. That particular thought reminded Emma what she was really there for.

"So... Why did you give me up?" She said abruptly, stopping their laughter.

Both their faces fell as reality sunk in. David began, " Uh... Well, your mother and I were childhood sweethearts, but your grandparents didn't approve at all. Please understand, Emma, that we didn't want to give you up, we just had no other option."

"And we were naïve back then. We thought the government would place you in a home with a settled family where you would have grown up happy and with everything we couldn't give you—"

"But I didn't," Emma interrupted. The haunting hurt in her eyes tore Mary Margaret and David to pieces. No, their precious daughter didn't have the upbringing they had hoped for. The private investigator had confirmed that, but it was more heart-shattering to see how it had taken its toll on Emma. "I grew up with horrible people. I was lucky if I got a foster home that _didn't_ pay any attention to me."

"Emma…" Mary Margaret tried to steady her voice as her eyes started watering. "Emma, we're so, so sorry that we put you through that. David and I, well, we weren't married and David was technically an adult when I found out I was pregnant."

"Her mother, Regina, and my father, George, were awful and bitter people who hated each other. They schemed to have me thrown in jail for—" he tried to phrase delicately, "engaging with Mary Margaret."

"So we were forced to give you up—" she added.

"But knowing how much you've had to endure, if I could go back, we'd have kept you no matter the consequences. It would've been hard, but Mary Margaret would've been a terrific mother to you—"

"But she wasn't and we can't go back!" Emma raised her voice and stood up from the table. "I'm sorry. I just—I don't know what I'm doing here. I have to go." And like that, Emma left the voices calling after her and walked. Her destination: anywhere but there right now.

* * *

Killian was standing around with the boys at the dock. It was break and he was glad now that he hadn't gone out with Graham the night before because he ended up getting a call from his boss asking him to take on the graveyard shift. "Of course," Killian had said; he always said yes. Not because he was a people pleaser, he just had nothing better to do, and with _the_ day approaching, he needed all the distraction, be it exhaustion, to keep his mind sedated.

That's when he spotted a lean blonde woman running towards the ocean a little down the way from him. Her hair flapped in the wind as she reached the end of the park walkway next to the sea. Walking over to the nearest bench, she buried her face in her hands. Crying, it appeared.

Killian just watched her in the distance. He couldn't explain why, but he felt a pull towards this fragile woman whose sobs were quaking her little body. She looked so small and helpless. Grumpy called him back down the pier and he started to leave, but not before he heard and saw Ruby Lucas, the Inn keeper's grand-daughter, calling out to the upset woman. He swore he heard the name, 'Emma.'

* * *

"You know, Mary Margaret and David Nolan are probably the nicest people in town," Ruby said, pushing a steaming mug of coffee towards Emma in the diner.

"Thanks, Ruby. And I know! I know..." She smoothed over her face with her hand, she felt a migraine coming on. Good thing Ruby spiked her coffee. Drinking in the morning wasn't beneath Emma. "They are extremely good people and I understand what they went through, but I just..."

"It hurts. I get it, Emma, I really do. Both of my parents left, too, but all I'm saying is that if I had a chance to be adopted by anyone, it'd be your parents. And, I remember Mary Margaret's step-mother, Mrs. Mills, she was a scary woman. I heard my granny saying that she even abused Mary Margaret, too."

Emma hadn't considered that. Mary Margaret was so perky like there was nothing bad in her world, but they had both said that their parents were terrible people. They gave her up because her grandparents were willing to throw her own father in prison. Press charges and go to prison or hope that their baby would find a good home with loving people. It _was_ naïve, but it was well-intentioned, too.

They knew pain as well and maybe that's why they were willing to give her up because they couldn't see their happy ending ever coming.

Emma sat with her new revelation while Ruby attended to the full family that had entered the diner; grandparents, parents, and their kids. It was a proper family outing with all three generations and Emma felt a little distressed at the sight. She retreated back upstairs to her room while Ruby watched with sad eyes.

In her room, Emma kicked off her boots and then burrowed into the covers of her bed. She finally allowed herself to cry until she fell asleep, catching up on rest that always eluded her.

* * *

Killian tossed his keys onto the table, exhausted and beat from the night and early morning shifts. He sat down and stared at the ocean waves striking against the coastline. He was lucky to have found this place when he and Graham moved here. It was beautiful—shabby white picket fence and all, spacious—with two extra rooms he had no clue what to do with, and even had a breathtaking view of the beach below.

He let out a sigh into the silence of his home and looked around at the bare walls and plain furniture. The only thing with even a hint of life was the loud clock, announcing every second that passed, hanging above the fireplace he never used, but was always stocked with wood for a rainy day. It wasn't like he wasn't well-endowed with all his overtime and extra shifts, but he simply felt no desire in spending the time picking out colors or fabrics. What was the point? So the boys could admire the interior design of the home on their Friday poker nights?

He laboriously pulled off each boot and walked to the shower. For a long time he just stood there under the stream of water pelting down against his back. _The_ day was coming too fast for him. If he could skip it all together, he would, but he couldn't and the closer it got, so did the memories. Memories of him and Milah flooded into his mind leaving it a very unpleasantly dark place. Toweling off and changing into some comfortable clothes, he walked—eyes closed like he had done so many times before—until he hit the edge of the bed and plopped down.

Maybe when he woke up, things would be different. Right before sleep overcame him, his curiosity took over and his mind drifted away from memories of Milah to the woman hunched over on the bench crying. What was she so distraught over?

* * *

Emma woke up hours later. Crying always took its toll on her because she did it so rarely. When she did feel the urge to cry, it wasn't crocodile tears or shallow streams. No, they carved deep ridges into her heart that let out all of her past demons to play.

She remembered how she had stormed out of the Nolans' house and kicked down her covers in frustration like a child. She let out a long sigh before opening her eyes to the ceiling. _'I wish it would just fall on me,'_ she thought tiredly before making her way to the bathroom to inspect the damage. Yes, her eyes were puffy and red like she thought. Turning on the shower, she leaned against the bathroom counter until steam filed out into the bedroom. Having a family couldn't be that bad and they were definitely the perfect candidates for the job, but what did that mean about New York? Her job was there and so was her apartment. She didn't think Mary Margaret and David would give up on being a family that easily. Ugh! It was all too conflicting.

After showering, Emma dressed like she was attending a funeral—all black with a black leather jacket to top it off. She made her way down the stairs into the diner only stopping to ask Ruby to point her in the direction of the nearest bar. The _only_ bar in town was right there on Main Street.

It was a dim place with a few pool tables and a slight tobacco haze, but not even a fraction as threatening as some of the joints she hung around back in the city. Emma made her way to the bar and sat down a couple of seats away from a stranger who was busy checking his phone. She ordered a glass of bourbon and when the bartender was about to pull away, she held up her hand and motioned for the woman to keep going. "Keep it coming, buddy." The bartender looked at her knowingly and topped off the glass.

"Quite a stiff drink for a lady, if you ask me," the stranger said, still texting on his phone.

"Well no one asked, so…" Emma trailed off and took a long swig.

"Rough day?"

"You have no idea," Emma replied.

"I'll have another please." The stranger took up his own drink.

"Rough day?" Emma jeered.

"You have no idea," he mimicked her words.

They sat in silence and both swimming in their own pool of problems before he spoke again, "You're new, aren't you? The names Killian, Killian Jones." He promptly lifted his drink at her in cheers. He was actually pretty gorgeous—blue eyes, dark mess of hair, and stubble that only made him look even more ruggedly handsome.

"Emma, Emma Swan," she mocked, not making any attempt to return the welcoming gesture, then noticed a slight glint in his eyes that told her everything she needed to know. "But you already knew that, didn't you?" she said flatly, her eyes narrowed.

The corner of Killian's lips quirked up; there weren't many people who could decipher him and usually his charm and looks clouded their judgment, especially with women. "You've caught me. I heard Ruby Lucas calling after you this morning."

Emma's face fell and she tore her eyes away from him. Oh great. This guy had already seen her at her worst—weak, a mess, and crying. Her emotional armor had always Emma's loyal companion and for someone to see her without them, without her consent, without her knowing, was unnerving. Almost as unnerving as the blue orbs that bore into her while she took another lengthy drink.

"Now, what could possibly make a woman like yourself want to runaway to the sea?" Killian pondered, a smirk playing across his lips.

"That's my business, _Killian,_" she said sternly. "And, I wasn't running away. I just needed some air."

"Well, lass, couldn't have picked a better place to 'not runaway' to. I spent some time on a ship once when I was 'not running away' myself; it made me forget about—" He almost said it. He almost mentioned Milah; the single most painful thing in his existence. "Uh, about a lot of things," he finished saying after a beat.

What was it about this broken woman next to him that made him want to spill his guts? To hopefully make this woman he had only just met open up as well?

It was time to leave. Things were getting too dangerous around Emma Swan.

He started to move away when Emma asked, "Lass? Really? Where's your accent from?"

"Ireland, move here two years ago." Hands in the pockets of his coat, he leaned back against the barstool. So much for leaving. "How long have you been in town?"

"Only a day," she snorted.

"Only a day and already trying to lose yourself in a bottle of whiskey? We must not have made a great impression on you." He actually managed to get her to crack a smile. "Well, Emma Swan, welcome to Storybrooke."

"What is it with you people and saying that?"

"We save it for a rainy occasion and as far as newcomers are concerned, the town's been in kind of a drought." He thought he'd get another smile out of her, but instead he saw her tense up. Killian could sense it, the friendly woman from just a moment ago was already gone and replaced with someone much colder.

"Ah, I see. Now it makes sense. I'm just the shiny new toy that everyone wants a piece of," she rolled her eyes and returned to her drink. "Yeah, nice to meet you, Killian. Goodbye now." Killian was at a loss for words. What was wrong with this woman? Could she really be this stubborn? Killian pushed himself away from the bar.

"Right." He made his way towards Emma and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "You should really let those walls down sometime, love. I'm sure it'd be a beautiful sight." Emma glared at his back as he exited the bar and called out, "Enjoy your drink, Emma Swan!"

"Jerk," was all Emma could muster.

"Honey, not at all. Nice guy," the bartender countered and polished the glass in her hand before setting it down and grabbing another.

"Yeah, well I highly doubt a guy like that is a saint."

"Never said he was. Just said he was a nice guy." She leaned over and filled up Emma's glass again. "And it kind of looked like he liked talking to you."

Emma didn't answer back. She wasn't in the mood. After the day she had, the last thing on her mind was making friends in a town that she was going to leave and probably never come back to after this was all over.

That's what it was. Temporary... Right?

* * *

_**Review? Happy Easter!**_


	4. Almost Home

_**I thought this chapter was pretty fun, hopefully you do, too :)**_

* * *

**Chapter 4: Almost Home**

Killian moved inside the front gate and let himself collapse on the grass. He stared up at the night sky, so clear and infinite, the stars shining with life. He hadn't felt so invigorated in so long—and with just one conversation. Sure, it ran a little south near the end and he found a rather annoying flaw in her, but still… As stubborn as she was, Emma Swan was a real character and he was even partly willing to admit that he liked it.

It was obvious that she was stunning, but she was so ridiculously guarded that she couldn't even have a proper conversation without trying to find ways to escape it. He wondered if her heart had ever been broken. No, a woman like that breaks hearts before hers can be broken. She may have been able to read him earlier, but he had a card up his sleeve; information that allowed him to see into the first few layers of her complexity.

Mr. and Mrs. Nolan's long-lost daughter. She was given up, abandoned—and he knew how that felt. He knew what it was like to not have family one day, to go to a house, but never a home. That's why he left. When Milah saved him.

Milah. His thoughts turned back to the dark haired seductress. Killian's eyebrows crinkled as he muttered her name under his breath. She was just making her way through Ireland; town by town, pub by pub until she singled him out. He was just a willing lad back then, so willing for love and adventure of all kinds. In the end, it was _she_ who didn't want adventure—to take a chance at something new and different—to be a part of something, a family.

She was the coward. He had decided that long ago. Still, _the_ day—the day she left him—was coming up in the next few weeks and, just as it had every year, it would come to claim his happiness and the little bit of peace he struggled to achieve.

The closer it became, the more haunted and utterly alone he felt. He wasn't at his worst right now, but he definitely wasn't at his best. Emma Swan had made him forget all about it, even if for just a minute. She was like a glowing beacon in his otherwise bleak life here in Storybrooke. He just couldn't put it into words. There was something different about her, yet so familiar all at the same time.

It didn't matter anyway. Why would she stay in this town? She didn't seem like the type to forgive easily and if she had been crying about her parents earlier at the docks, well, she'd be on her way out soon enough. However, she saw things that other people were oblivious to, so maybe she'd see something redeeming in the Nolans.

He sighed and lifted himself off the ground, leaning back onto his forearms—looking at the stars once again. Why was he bothering to dissect her life story? Then again, why not? It was better than having the same memories of Milah on torturous repeat.

* * *

While Killian's stomach was in knots about Milah, Emma's was because of how she had reacted to her parents.

They were trying _so_ hard to make her feel welcome and all she could do was let her past get the better of her. They were good people, right? They deserve a second chance. She deserved a second chance. Why was she so scared of the possibility of being happy?

Exhaustion hit her as she stomped up the stairs to her room and in the middle of her bed was a yellow assortment of flowers with a small note card attached.

_'Emma,_

_We don't want to force you, but if you'd like us to meet somewhere on your terms, we'll answer any and all of the questions you may have. We just want the best for you and if that means parting ways now, we understand completely._

_With love,_

_Mary Margaret'_

Emma could faintly see the remnants of an erased 'mom' under her mother's signed name. How could she refuse? They obviously realized how overwhelming this morning had been in their home.

It was so beautiful to feel like she belonged to something so perfect that when fantasy met the reality of her circumstances, she bolted before her heart could be broken.

Now she sat, sniffling and letting stray tears fall upon the note card. This is what she had always wanted, so why didn't she want to allow herself to finally have it? She deserved it. After everything she had gone through, she deserved to be cared for by someone else. She thought back to the investigator.

"_Kid. Being alone isn't the way to live..." _

'_No,' _Emma thought. _'No it isn't. I want to be happy. I don't want to be alone anymore. I owe it to myself, at least, to hear them out—maybe we can be 'one big happy family'… one day."_

It was nearly eleven o'clock at night, but she reached for the landline and dialed the Nolan residence. _Ring. Ring. 'What am I doing, it's late; they probably won't even pick up.' Ring. Ring. _

"Hello?" Mary Margaret's chipper yet confused voice answered.

"Mar—" Maybe it was the booze, but she wanted to try it out. To see what it felt like. "Mom?" Emma croaked, wiping the wet mess that was her face. Mary Margaret was speechless, her daughter had just called her, 'mom.'

"Emma, honey, are you alright?"

"Yeah… Yeah, I'm alright, I just… Can we meet tomorrow—here at the diner? We, uh, we never finished our breakfast." Emma's body shook with a sudden rush of adrenaline, she was doing this. She was really doing this, giving it all a chance.

"Of course, sweetheart! We'll be there at seven. Does that sound okay for you? We can meet anytime you want, really." Her voice was so full of hope it even made Emma feel at ease.

"Yeah, that's fine. Um… Sorry for calling so late."

"Oh no, no, no. You call at any time you want to, Emma. You call us for anything."

"Okay," Emma choked out, a small smile starting to form.

"We'll see you in the morning, Emma."

"Okay," she took in a deep breath to steady her voice. "Alright, see you in the morning. Good night."

"Get some rest, sweetie. Good night!"

Emma stayed on the line, waiting for Mary Margaret to hang up. She caught Mary Margaret shouting to David that he _was_ skipping work tomorrow and _that's that,_ before she hung up. Emma had to laugh at how strong-willed her mother was. _'She was hurt, too,'_ she thought, _'And look at everything she has now.'_ Emma could only hope that she would be able to one day have that, too.

* * *

"Again?!" Killian exclaimed into his cell.

"I'm sorry! The boss needs another day with his daughter." Killian rolled his eyes, of course—Miss Emma Swan. "What's worse is that it's only going to get more hectic when he retires next week. It'll only be me, unless you're looking to be a deputy, too?" Graham joked.

"Right, me a deputy. Sorry, Graham, I don't meet the most important criteria for the job: Laziness," Killian jabbed.

"Your loss, buddy—seriously though, I'm about to lose every free moment I have."

"Well, I'll… I'll find something to do around this place," he grumbled and kicked his work boots against the wall.

"You need make some more friends, is what you should do. What's Leroy doing?"

"Old Grumpy works as much as I do. He's hardly ever free except for our game nights."

"Jesus, man. Well, we at least still on for Friday?"

"Of course—same time, same place." He hung up his cell, too unhappy to say goodbye. At least poker nights were untouched, but it would be a while before he got his friend back._ 'Damn it, Nolan; of all times to retire, this was definitely not a good month.'_

He stared around his house. Everything was clean, mostly in order, and needed little to no attention at all. _'Here lies Killian, dead from boredom after only a day off of work in this tiny hole of a town.'_ He stared at the two empty rooms behind him. If only he could think of what to do with them. Graham had always suggested turning one into a study of some sorts, but what would he need a study for? It was just open space, not even needed for storage.

"Damn it!" Killian picked up his phone and dialed his boss. Balancing it between his shoulder and ear, he put on his work boots. "Hey, you need any extra hands down there today? Great, I'll be there." Work was always a great distraction and the best part was that he wouldn't even have a hangover the next day. Besides, drinking this early in the day never sat too well with him. It reminded him too much of his old man.

* * *

When Emma walked down the stairs, she could see Mary Margaret and David waiting, fidgeting with their cups. The last morning didn't go so well and they were afraid of scaring off their daughter again. They wanted so much to be a family, but they wouldn't force her. After all, twenty-eight years was a very long time.

"Hi, guys," Emma said softly, flashing them a polite smile and sitting across from them in the booth. This already felt better; being in a neutral place surrounded by other people, conversations, and distractions. It was on Emma's terms now and that little bit of control made her feel better about the whole thing. A good night's rest after a few drinks didn't hurt either.

"Good morning," they both said coolly, trying to check their excitement.

"So… Where to begin." Emma sighed guiltily, "I'm sorry for running out yesterday, I don't know what came over me."

"It's alright, really. It was all too much too soon, you were totally valid in how you felt, Emma." Mary Margaret spoke for them. She was trying to be composed for Emma and Emma appreciated it.

"I just need to know a few things before… Before anything can happen with us."

"Of course. Whatever you want."

"When did you hire the private investigator?"

"We first hired him eight years ago, but it was really hard trying to find information about you."

"I was moved around a lot—I ran away a lot, too."

"Then we gave up for a while. We thought it was for the best since it had been so long—"

"Why _did_ you wait so long to find me?" Now Emma was curious.

"Emma, we didn't want to complicate your life," David finally chimed in. "We only hired the investigator because, well, we always wondered, but when we learned about one of your previous foster fathers in particular—a despicable, abusive man—it revealed that a lot of the others weren't fit guardians either. We knew that something had gone wrong. That you didn't end up in a good home. That we made a grave mistake. So we continued searching, but," David laughed nervously, "you're a very hard person to track down."

"So I've been told." Emma's eyes never left her coffee. So this was it, the moment of truth. Was she going to give this—_them_—a shot? Or was she going to write them off? She looked up and away from her thoughts and saw Mary Margaret shift uncomfortably in the booth. What now?

"So… Emma… Is there anything else? What would you like to do—what would be best for you and your life?"

"I honestly don't know. I—I think want to get to know you both. I'm still… scared… but I think it's the right thing to do for myself," she confessed. "But, I also can't stay in the Inn forever. This is all just too impossible to work out. I don't know what to do—I'm sorry, I just don't know."

"We understand, sweetheart, and we don't want to force you to stay here." Mary Margaret glanced at David whose expression said otherwise. "But if you ever wanted to, Storybrooke really is a good town and the people are so wonderful."

"Yeah, I believe that. I really do," Emma conceded.

"It could give us the chance to get to know each other better and to make up for all the time we've lost already. To give us the chance to make it up to you."

"I still just don't know," she finally answered. "My job, my apartment—they're back in New York. Everything I know is over there. It's just… It feels safe there, you know? It just feels uncomplicated? I don't know if I'm making much sense," she said ruefully. A part of her, the little girl in her, _wanted_ to just pick up and stay in Storybrooke, but the sourness of adulthood told her that it wasn't the rational thing to do.

"Why ruin a good thing?" David pitched. Emma nodded sadly. "Just know, kiddo, we're always here and I can promise you that nothing complicated _ever_ happens in this town," he laughed, inciting a happy smirk from Emma and a low chuckle from Mary Margaret. "I mean," David added "this is coming from the Sheriff of this town, too." They all laughed at the quaintness of the town while Emma thought to herself, _'All of us laughing and smiling, now we look like that family from yesterday.'_

* * *

_**One Week Later**_

Emma had spent more time being fussed over this week than she had in her entire life. She found out that Mary Margaret was a retired principal who had taken up art in her spare time. She had beautiful sketches of brilliantly colored birds—Blue Jays, Herons, Lories, and, her favorite, Hummingbirds. She was quite the expert and had a variety of effortlessly perfect bird calls at her disposal. Her favorite ice cream flavor was Vanilla Bouean and she had a secret stash of drug-store romance novels that David still, to this day, was clueless of.

David was a simple man with simple pleasures. His number one priority was Mary Margaret and his second was this town—soon to be replaced by Emma herself. David had been a deputy since he graduated high school then took over as head sheriff, and now planned for retirement in only a few days. He loved Storybrooke and its small town charm and he was rather sad to let the position go, but he was confident that his successor, Graham Humbert, would do an excellent job. Graham had proven himself not only capable, but just as passionate about the citizens of Storybrooke as well.

Meeting at the diner every morning for breakfast then resuming for dinner at the Nolans' residence, Emma shocked herself at how resilient she could be to all this change. Something about the way her parents looked at her—like this was their time—made her want to stay; so much that when she boarded her flight back to New York, she felt a little homesick and not for her shabby apartment in the Big Apple.

Exhausted from the turbulent flight back, Emma heaved her luggage up three flights of stairs. Her keys jangled as she tried to free them from her purse. She pushed the key into the lock, but the door gave way and revealed a tornado of disaster inside. Her apartment was completely in shambles. Glass crunched under her boots as she made her way to the middle of the little studio. She dropped her bags, still in shock, and looked around at her flipped mattress, open fridge, and tossed desk chair. Someone had robbed her. In all the years she lived here, she never _once_ took a vacation, and _the one_ time she did, someone robs here.

"Well it's about time I was welcomed to the city! Thank you oh so much, fuckers!" Emma shouted to no one. She promptly turned around and kicked her door with the full force of her frustration that she nearly snapped it off its old brass hinges.

The money she had squirreled away—gone. Her TV—gone. They even took her damn microwave. Anything of monetary value—gone_, 'But at least they had the decency to leave most of my wardrobe untouched,'_ she thought cynically. She was so mad she didn't even realize the hot tears falling to her chin. Her 'safe' apartment had just been proven otherwise. She picked up her cell and scrolled through her contacts. Who else could she call? Friends? She didn't have any. She was always working. Yeah there were a couple co-workers that she got along with, but this? This was a family situation—and she had that now. Time to exercise it.

"Emma! Did you get back alright?" Mary Margaret's voice rang from the other end.

"Mom, someone broke into my apartment while I was gone," Emma let down all her walls and cried to her hysterical mother on the phone. She really didn't need this crap right now—she was tired, emotionally exhausted, and of course it would happen right when she was starting to look at things in a brighter light, too.

Life felt Emma moving up, so it smacked her right back down. She wanted uncomplicated, she wanted routine, but now life was forcing her to adapt; pushing her to her limits. She pulled her mattress down off the wall and curled up, her phone still pressed to her ear.

* * *

David Nolan was finally back at the office laughing at his own joke. Killian laughed politely at the unfunny joke before offering David one of the burgers he had brought for himself and Graham which David took appreciatively before threatening Graham and Killian, "If any of you tell my wife about this, I will kill you."

"David's on a health kick," Graham explained to Killian.

"No, my wife's on a health kick. She's just under the impression that I want to be, too." They all laughed together. Killian enjoyed his french fries as David began another tall tale, burger in hand.

The town knew that Graham and Killian were best friends and David trusted Graham's judgment. If Graham liked him, well then David liked him, too, but David noticed the way Killian would stare at nothing, a small frown creeping onto his face when things got too quiet. The man had his inner demons and from what little information Graham disclosed, it was a woman—and David knew the devastating power that a woman could have on a man's heart. Ah, young love.

"And then I said—"

"David! David!" Mary Margaret called from around the corner.

David's eyes grew wide and Killian quickly reached for the burger from David's hands before she arrived around the corner. "Honey! I was just—" Mary Margaret took in the scene, Killian standing awkwardly near David; burger in Killian's out-stretched hand.

"Oh save it, David! Mrs. Lucas told me that you've been cheating on our diet for months!"

Killian and David both looked at the ground guiltily, like little boys being caught sneaking cookies. "Sorry, mate," Killian mumbled to David.

"Anyway! That's not why I'm here." Everyone's attention was back on Mary Margaret. "Emma was robbed!"

"What?! Is she okay? Tell her we'll be there as soon as we can!"

"David, she's fine, but her apartment is far from it. We talked and, David," Mary Margaret smiled and squealed, "I think she might come to Storybrooke!"

"Really? Are you—are you sure?!"

"Yes! It's not under the best of circumstances… She's pretty shaken up, but, David! Our daughter might come to us," she said like it was the happiest news in the world.

David grabbed his wife and swung her around, "Our daughters coming home!"

Graham and Killian both sat in the background, waiting to be addressed, waiting for the Nolans' private moment to be over. Mary Margaret and David were like fairytale characters, Killian noted, so in love that no one could stand in the way of their affection and devotion; it made Killian feel sick for Milah.

"David, we need to help Emma! We need to find her a place—and work! She'll want to work, she's too stubborn to allow us to help out too much."

"Much like her mother." Mary Margaret smacked him on his shoulder and David played it up by rubbing the spot and mouthing, 'Ouch.'

"Emma?" Graham started to smile as he glanced over at an embarrassed Killian as if to say, _'So this is the gal you were talking about…' _

"Yes, beautiful name, isn't it?"

"Oh yes, Mrs. Nolan, my grandmother's name was Emma," he fibbed as a cover. "Well, you know Mrs. Nolan, Killian here has a room he's been trying to rent out." Killian looked to him, wide-eyed and horrified. "And there's a second bedroom that could easily be used for storage."

"What a wonderful idea! Killian lives so close to us, David! It'd be perfect!"

"Yeah… Perfect." David said tight-lipped.

"And honey! Graham could use the extra help at the station, right? Emma works security in _New York_, Graham."

"She's qualified then! I wouldn't expect the daughter of David Nolan to be otherwise," Graham said with the biggest grin, taking a moment to flash it at Killian, too. Killian had decided to remain _very_ quiet until the Nolans left to make arrangements with their daughter.

"You stupid, asshole." Killian grabbed Graham, who was dying from a fit of laughter. "Are you mad?!"

"You heard the lady! Mrs. Nolan thinks it's a fantastic idea, and so do I!" Graham could barely talk between his heavy laughs.

"Oh, god. She'll never consent to it anyway, she hates me."

"She does not hate you, she just doesn't know you yet."

"Right, well, thank you for the roommate, you idiot. I'm sure she'll be even friendly when Mother Nature pays her a visit."

"You love the abuse, though! Oh come off it, the way you talked about her? You like her, dude, just admit it."

"I like many a woman, Graham, it doesn't mean I want to_ live with them._" An irritated Killian exited the room, but he still heard Graham call out after him.

"You can always say no, Killian!" He could still imagine the bastard sitting at his desk with that stupid grin on his face, but Killian knew he wouldn't refuse. There was something intriguing about Emma Swan; still, he was sure that she would refuse him in an instance.

* * *

_**W****ell now, I like cupid!Graham, don't you?**_


	5. Surprise, Surprise

_**Good morning! So I think it's funny how long it takes to make an outline versus how quickly I'll discard it and be like, "Forget this; I'm ****just going to write!****"**_

* * *

**Chapter 5: Surprise, Surprise**

"Really? At Killian Jone's house?" David asked hysterically outside the station as he opened the car door for his wife.

"It's not like that, honey. Besides, he's a gentleman—always greets me at the market. Helps me with the groceries, too." She closed the door, then rolled down the window in time to hear her husband shout.

"Mary Margaret. We are talking about_ our daughter, _not _groceries_!"

"Stop over-reacting!" She started the car, ready to drive away from her husband's absurdness. "She obviously doesn't want to live with us. She needs her own space, David."

"Well, what about… Ruby! Ruby Lucas!"

"And what? Ruby lives with her grandmother."

"Exactly."

"Exactly what?"

"Granny Lucas is known for being familiar with a shotgun in case any strange men—"

"Strange men! Listen to yourself, David! She's not a little girl, she's a grown woman, and capable of handling herself."

"But she's—"

"Going to be just fine. Graham wouldn't have recommended it if he didn't feel it wasn't safe. And you trust him, right?" She smiled to herself having won her argument.

"OKAY! Okay. But we're still giving her an out just in case she wants to take it."

"Fine, David," a clearly annoyed Mary Margaret consented before driving away.

* * *

_**A Few Days Later**_

As if things couldn't have gone more south for her, she now had a blip on her list of professional references. Emma was thrown under the bus for leaving so last minute to Storybrooke last week. It wouldn't have been an issue if it weren't for a crazy brawl that broke out in the club while she was away—leaving them understaffed. Luckily she did have a back-up: Storybrooke. Her new job as deputy would be a nice change of pace, especially with having her nights off, and as her father said, the sleepy town rarely needed any extra attention. So, piece of cake.

Everything was almost in order. She had two suit cases packed with her belongings and the rest would be shipped to Storybrooke via a moving company, and apparently, the place they had found for her was a nice house next to the sea and near their own.

When she asked about her roommate, her mother only described him as, "A very handsome, single young man. Such a gentleman." She could feel a set-up on her mother's end, but it didn't faze her. Emma wasn't looking to get involved and hopefully this guy respected her space so she could respect his.

Relationships were always a problem for Emma, but growing up surrounded by dysfunctional people, it was no wonder that her relationships tended to run the same route. She was trying to be smart and, in the end, all she had were a bunch of one-night stands and an emptiness. Emma felt a wall she just couldn't break through no matter how much she wanted to be on the other side, and after finally giving up, she convinced herself that she didn't need the companionship. All she needed was herself.

But even that wasn't true because in her moment of vulnerability, she had reached out for the first time in her life. Meeting her parents had melted some of the ice around her heart and to be honest it felt good to feel that support come from somewhere other than herself.

Storybrooke was a good thing. Simple town, simple life, and a simply perfect set of parents. The only thing that made her hesitant was the man from the bar whose crystal blue eyes stared at her in amusement like he knew a secret—it unnerved her.

'_Well, I'll just have to drink at home with my new roommate because the bar is now out of the question.'_

* * *

"Look at you, all domesticated. I don't think I've had the pleasure of seeing this side of you, Killian," Graham jeered, lifting his feet up from the lone chair in the empty room while Killian vacuumed.

"Somehow I knew you always found pleasure in watching me, but regrettably, mate, I don't swing that way. You'll have to find love elsewhere," Killian taunted back. Graham nearly choked on his beer. "Though I think it'll be hard to find someone as devilishly good-looking as myself. Guess you'll have to settle then."

Graham let out a good-humored laugh and contributed, "I'll never settle, guess your Emma will just have to get used to me pining over you, too."

Killian shot him a bored look. Graham had been teasing Killian about Emma for days. _'Emma won't like this…' 'Emma will find that funny…' 'Oh Killian, you should offer her two storage rooms and just share your bed!'_

It was getting quite old very fast and he only hoped that Graham would halt the verbal assault when she finally arrived.

"I'm telling you, she won't take it. Probably shouldn't have called her out back at the bar like that," Killian admitted.

"Yeah, that I will agree with."

"I was a gentleman, at the least! I didn't shout it out for the whole world to hear."

"Keep telling yourself that. Trust me, you'll pay for it. David's been telling me about how fierce a woman she is. 'Stronger than any woman I've met.' I think he's hoping I'll tell you and you'll get scared."

"For God's sake, he's acting like I'm going to pounce on her as soon as she steps foot into the house. It's _me_ he should be worried about. I know the effect I have on the ladies. I can't help it if I'm irresistibly adorable."

"More like deplorable." Killian's hand shot to his heart in jest before unplugging the vacuum and winding up the cord.

"I just hope she doesn't try to gal-up the place," Killian said. "I mean, what are we going to do with Poker Nights? I doubt she'll want to go out _every_ Friday night."

"Killian, in all honesty, she'll probably not even pay attention to you. I mean, you're roommates. She'll probably just come in, run to her room, then leave for work again the next day."

"Yeah, well, if we have any issues with the living arrangements, you can bet your ass that you'll be the one fixing everything while she's with you at the office."

Graham sighed in defeat, he hadn't thought of that… He was now caught between his best friend and new co-worker—and his old boss, too. This was the tragic flaw in his plan to unite Killian with the infamous Emma.

* * *

_**Moving Day**_

She didn't have much furniture or boxes—she lived in a small New York apartment studio after all. In such a cramped space with a beautiful view of the brick-walled alley between her building and the next, one had to get creative with storage organizers. Besides, Emma wasn't an overly-sentimental person and required little to be content.

She fit her luggage into the trunk of her parent's station wagon as they drove her to her new home. First David went out of their way, inciting a dramatic eye roll from Mary Margaret, to stop by their house, so that she could see how to get to and from their place if ever needed.

They pulled up to the white house with its lovely cobblestone walkway and big flush yard. The shutters showed the true age of the house for the paint was cracked and peeling, but Emma saw the beauty in the place. It was truly a Storybrooke house—quaint and charming. Best of all, she could run down to the beach whenever she pleased.

The movers were already carrying the small burnt-orange loveseat that she couldn't part with into the house as others returned to the truck to carry boxes. With David carting along one of her small luggage bags and Mary Margaret the other, Emma felt uncomfortable not hauling anything for herself, so she fetched a box from the truck. The workers protested that she didn't have to, but she insisted. It was her stuff, she should move it.

Her parents were already inside when she heard a familiar voice coming from inside. As she neared the front porch, Killian Jones, the man from the bar, crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the door frame.

"Oh, no. No way, you've got to be kidding me," Emma whispered.

"Hey, love! How're you doing today? Enjoying the weather?" he politely put on a show in front of the movers and the Nolans.

He moved away from the door and out to a shocked Emma who was just standing idly in the yard.

"Be careful with that one! It says fragile. Oh David, help the poor man!" Mary Margaret called from inside the house, their attention diverted.

"I can't live here," Emma said seriously.

"Figured you'd chicken out," he tilted back to view the house then returning his eyes to Emma again. "Not fit for the princess?"

"Yeah right, I'm no princess, buddy."

"Right, is it the fence? I'm sorry there's no moat around it, didn't think I'd have Storybrooke royalty settling here."

"Are you saying that I can't handle living here? _Here_? I'm from New York, pal."

"Whatever you say, Miss Emma," Killian smirked.

"Shut up. Take this, Jones." She thrust the heavy box into Killian's arms without warning and made her way inside the house.

'_Well, this should be interesting,' _they both thought.

* * *

Boxes littered the smaller 'storage' room. Mary Margaret and David were intent on helping Emma unpack, but she insisted that she was capable of unpacking her stuff herself. After much convincing and making plans for dinner, the Nolans left Emma's new home and Emma and Killian alone.

"They're quite fussy, aren't they?" Killian observed.

"You have no idea," she echoed the night they met in the bar.

"It's nice though, to be fussed about," Killian replied earnestly—his thoughts beginning to wander back to his own mother.

"Yeah. It is kind of nice," Emma was thrown off by the comment. She expected another quip about her being a princess, but he sounded sincere in that. She tried to move her desk, but the loveseat got in the way.

"Here, let me help you with that." He picked up the other end of the loveseat and suggested, "It's your home, too, you know. We can put this out in the living room that way there will be more space."

"Um. Sure. Alright," was all Emma could say. Guess her mother was right; he could be a gentleman when he wanted. When returning to the room, Killian rolled his eyes at her protests and moved the desk for her.

She as in awe at all the politeness. She had never had so many people help her in one day. It almost made her feel a bit apprehensive, but instead of running away from it, she confronted the feeling head on and let herself be taken care of without guilt or fear—or at least attempted to.

"So Killian," Emma began.

"Yes, m'dear."

"Why such a big house if living alone?" she mercilessly asked.

Killian was quiet for a minute then answered, "It has a nice view of the beach and an actual white picket fence." He dropped off another box in the room and looked her in the eye. "Why not?"

"You're lying to me."

"No, Emma, I am not _lying_ to you. I'm just keeping some of the mystery alive. Heard it makes things all the more enjoyable for the ladies," he winked before exiting the room to retrieve another box. "Just because something is half true, doesn't necessarily make it a lie."

"You're keeping something from me, then. What is it? Are you a serial killer?"

"If I was, I don't think I'd be working this hard at getting all your stuff organized."

"So, you're not going to tell me," she more said to herself than him.

"Nope," popping the 'p' then flattened his lips.

"Alright, guess sharing time is over."

"You don't need to share, love, you're somewhat of an open book."

"And how is that?"

"You're good at spotting the defects in the truth. You've been lied to a lot and never let yourself forget those harsh lessons, am I right?"

Emma didn't respond. She just stood there and glared at him coldly, pursing her lips in disapproval.

"It's alright, nothing to get upset about. I'm just observing that when a person is lied to over and over, eventually the truth becomes easier to spot. I have experience with my dad on that front." He stopped working and casually fell back against the wall. "My old man used to lie about his drinking. Said he would stop. Said he wasn't going to the bar. Said he wasn't drunk. In the end, I realized that that man was full of shit ninety-eight percent of the time."

Emma considered his story, how could someone share something like that, but be so reserved about her question? There was more to this Killian Jones than she thought. "So here we are—two people good at spotting lies. How are we going to politely lie to each other when we do something annoying?"

He let out a short laugh, "Oh Emma, who said we have to lie about anything? I'll be completely honest with you if you're honest with me." He held out his hand, "Deal?"

Emma continued to hold his gaze, trying to decipher his eyes, then confident in his words, she took his hand in hers. "Deal."

And with that, Killian allowed Emma to get herself and new room situated in private. He had to get some sleep before waking up at the crack of dawn for work anyway, but as he lay there, he could only focus on the sound of Emma shuffling about her room. He smiled because he could see the faint light shining underneath his bedroom door. For the first time in two years, he slept soundly knowing someone else was there with him.

* * *

The next morning, Killian woke up feeling fresh and alert. In one day everything he had known and expected of his life in Storybrooke had changed—except for work and if he didn't get dressed soon, he'd be late for sure. Sliding on his workpants and a crew neck, he made his way to the bathroom and inspected the lack of dark circles under his eyes. It was remarkable how much a decent night's rest could do.

It was six o'clock in the morning and Emma was wide awake. She had heard footsteps down the hall and panicked, forgetting where she was. She looked around her spacious room and at the boxes sitting on the oak floors, but for the most part it already looked and felt like home. She closed her eyes again and lay there, listening to Killian tread around the house lightly—probably trying not to wake her up.

When she heard the front door click into place and lock, she flung the covers off herself and began to explore the house. She inspected the cupboards in the kitchen. They were well stocked with herbs, spices, and cooking utensils. _'He must cook a lot then,'_ Emma thought to herself. The idea that a man like Killian Jones spent any time practicing the culinary arts made her laugh and roll her eyes.

In New York, there was really no need to use the little gas stove in the apartment. With crazy work hours like hers, she didn't have time to dabble in the kitchen. What was the point when she could just go downstairs and get a salad, soup, and pizza at the little cramped spot two buildings down? That was the thing about New York; you could get anything and everything you wanted no matter what time. It was the city that never slept, but Storybrooke started to settle down for the night at a quarter to eight.

Emma looked to the bare table in the dining area. It had four chairs, but surely only one was consistently used. The thought of Killian dining alone every night made her think of her own nights spent in the diner. _'Well he has company now,'_ she thought, shaking off the memories of her dismal evenings alone.

One thing that Emma Swan was determined about was getting at least some color into this house. If it was her space, too, then there would be some changes. It was time to enlist the help of her mother whose house was so intricately designed.

* * *

When Killian arrived home, he detected something off. He back-tracked and saw the old off-white curtains had been replaced with deep maroon ones swept nicely to the sides. Walking up to the door he discovered an elegant looking doormat _welcoming_ him inside. "What in god's name…" Killian muttered under his breath as he looked to the sides to see potted plants in the porch corners.

The door swung wide open and a very cheerful Mary Margaret greeted him and insisted he come in quickly to see the 'improvements.'

Killian was met with a room transformed. It looked nothing like it had when he'd left this morning—all the lifeless pale tones were gone and replaced by reds and browns—all matching the bloody loveseat. Mary Margaret chattered away about sofa covers, floor rugs, decorative vases, and potpourri.

"So how do you like it?" she asked proudly.

"It's—it's…" He looked into Mrs. Nolan's big, hopeful slate-green eyes and could only bring himself to say, "fiery."

"Emma! I knew he'd love it. It _is_ fiery. So much more warmth in this room now." She came out from around the corner in a pale blue tank top and long flowing skirt, her hair was tossed into a messy bun and Killian couldn't help but note how attractive she looked—then again, it was possible that she was simply a breath of fresh air in this otherwise intense room. "Wait until you see the others."

"I'm sorry, what? Others? Other what?"

"Oh silly, the other rooms! Here's the dining room," she gestured, taking his arm in hers to tour him around his own house. This room was different from the vibrant fire-room. This one actually looked like it belonged. The room was transformed with various shades of blues and creams that complimented the view of the ocean horizon outside, but the hallway was now adorned with pictures of scenic forests and landscapes.

"Well, my dears, I have a lunch date with your father," she looked to Emma who had been very quiet since Killian had arrived. "See you both soon enough. Goodbye!"

She made her way to the door and Emma shouted, "Thank you, mom," with a strained and forced pleasantness. When the door closed, she looked at Killian with a grave expression, "_Fiery._ That's what you came up with? Really?"

"Well, it does look like the house is on fire."

"So you don't like it."

"I didn't say that. It's just… different. A little notice would have been nice."

"Well, the house looked so bare before, I thought I could perk it up a bit, but I have to admit, everything was kind of beyond my control though. Mary Margaret went a little overboard."

"Yeah, you think?"

"Hey don't get snarky with me, pal. It doesn't look that bad. At least it looks like a house now instead of a ghost town for you and your work boots. Oh, and she bought place settings, too. Her gift to us."

Killian was at a loss for words, that wasn't just any table. "It was bare because that's our poker table! It's kind of hard to play cards with a candelabra blocking your view."

Emma was clearly offended by his ill-reception to the redecoration, nodded, lips pursed, and walked away back to her room in silence. Killian heard the door slam closed in the distance.

It wasn't that really that bad. It wasn't bad at all actually and the longer he let himself adjust to the overall effect, it was downright comfortable now. It was just different and Killian wasn't used to different. He sighed in frustration and sat down in to remove his boots, but they looked like they didn't belong in the beautifully laid out home anymore, so he shoved them into the closet by the door.

He went into his room, showered, and after long consideration underneath the streaming water, he had decided that change was good and if it kept Emma happy then he guessed he would just have to compromise for his housemate.

Set on apologizing, he buttoned up his shirt and made his way back into the hall, but Emma's door was already wide open—light off. He looked in the living room and still no sign of her. He called out, "Emma?" but there was no answer.

* * *

_**Oh no! Took it too far with the candelabra. Yep… Hope you enjoyed reading, leave a comment below if you can, thanks lovelies!**_


	6. Memories

_**Hey there!**_

* * *

**Chapter 6: Memories**

Killian went out onto the front porch and still no Emma. He didn't know why this worried him so much; she was going to be the new town sheriff, she could take care of herself. That's when he realized why he felt that horrible tightening in his chest. Milah. He had scared off yet another woman with his words and the old trauma from before resurfaced, opening up those ugly emotional wounds again.

He hadn't thought about her in two days and with _the_ day coming, it was amazing that he had forgotten at all. All the excitement had taken his mind off of his regret. Emma Swan stormed into his life like a hurricane; her strong presence made it hard not to pay attention to her. Subconsciously though, he probably welcomed the reprieve from trudging through the painful past with open arms, but right now, he was being reminded of everything he sought to forget.

There was something about people running away—about people disappearing that made him nauseous. It only got worse as the hours went by and there was still no sign of Emma. That dark little voice in his head whispered cruel things about how he wasn't worthy of Milah or anyone else for that matter. How he didn't deserve peace. His demons were just waiting for an opening and with Emma disappearing, they got one. He laid down on the now red-covered couch and pulled down the draped throw blanket Mary Margaret had gotten. Killian squeezed his eyes shut, as tight as he could, while trying to force away the memories of Milah's soft skin and the glow in her eyes when she laughed until sleep took over. Even then, his dreams were filled with nothing but her.

Killian later woke up to Emma hovering over him, a fire going in the fireplace he never used. The way the light reflected in Emma's eyes, the same glow he associated with his beloved Milah, mixed with his grogginess made him call out her name.

"Who's Milah?" Killian snapped to his senses, realizing where he was and that the woman next to him wasn't the dark-haired beauty he'd been chasing in his dreams just moments ago.

"Where'd you go? I was worried something might've happened." Emma was thrown at his words. Not only were her parents fussing over her, but now her new roommate was concerned about her well-being? This was getting too surreal, not to mention uncomfortable, for her.

"I went for a walk on the beach. Wanted to, you know, get some air."

Tossing off the throw blanket and sitting upright, Killian rubbed away the sleepiness from his eyes and Emma continued on.

"You shouldn't worry about me. That's not your job," Emma said point blank. "So, who's Milah? _Girlfriend?" _Killian couldn't do this right now. His mind was slow and everything around him was swarming from his dream.

"I'm going out," he announced and stood up to grab his jacket. He felt like he was going to drown in Milah's memory, but Emma didn't know any of this. She thought he was still mad about the stupid furnishings, so she plopped down and stared in frustration at the burning log. Emma was never good with apologies and didn't know where to begin.

"Killian?" she asked awkwardly, as if it pained her to have to do this.

He looked back and took in the fantastic warm coziness that was their living room. With the fire blazing, too, it really was a different experience. It _was_ different, but clearly different didn't always mean something unpleasant. He replaced his coat on the rack and sat on the other end of the couch.

"I'm sorry. I should have discussed it with you first _and_ I shouldn't have made you feel guilty. That was my bad." Killian smirked at the reluctance in her voice. He already knew she was stubborn, now he realized that she was also just as stubborn in admitting she was wrong or at fault. However, in this case, there wasn't anything for her to really be sorry about.

"No need to apologize, darling. I should be more gracious for what you two have done for the place. I'm just glad your mother didn't take offense to my _fiery_ comment." Emma cracked a smile.

"Yeah, well. I can't really tell where the fire starts and ends in this room either, so..." The both of them chuckled; this was all so ridiculous. "We can tone it down—get rid of a few vases."

"No, let's just leave it. It's actually kind of growing on me. I just hope the boys don't give me too much hell about it." A heavy silence took over because there was only one other thing left to address.

"So... Are you going to tell me who she is?" Emma attempted. The only person who knew about Milah in detail was Graham and mainly because it was Graham who took care of him on the anniversary of Milah's desertion.

"That's not something I feel comfortable discussing, Emma," he answered solemnly.

"Okay." Killian decided to steer the evening back onto a lighter note.

"I really do like the dining room though. Matched that flirty little number you were wearing earlier."

"Oh, shove it—and it kind of looks like the ocean."

"That it does, but seriously—I doubt I plan on throwing any dinner parties soon, so maybe we can clear it off for more practical uses like say, oh I don't know, actually eating?" Emma chuckled.

"Alright, I guess that's fair enough." She rose, "Good night, Killian," and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway that the firelight just couldn't burn up.

Killian stared at the fire for god knows how long, listening to the crackling while his mind drifted from a replay of his conversation with Emma back to the memories of the only woman he was sure he'd ever love.

* * *

The next couple of days were uneventful. Without meaning to, Killian kept his distance from his new housemate while the ache in his chest started to spread and plague the rest of him. It was going to devour every bit of him and it was only a matter of time until _the _day would come along and absolutely destroy him all over again.

Emma had started her new position at the station and quickly bonded with the very good-humored and, she'd admit it, _handsome_ Graham. They were easily friends within the first few days—tossing paper balls at each other's heads when they'd fall asleep and both humoring citizens hysterical over their pets going missing. However, when her father would visit the station—which so far was every day—he always talked Graham up and bragged about his marvelous qualities.

'_Great'_, Emma thought, _'Mom's trying to set me up with the supposed gentleman while dad is trying to set me up with the younger version of himself.' _Then she smiled to herself because she could actually say 'mom' and 'dad' now.

Life in Storybrooke really was a _much_ slower-paced life than in New York and Emma wasn't quite sure how she'd be able to handle it without her parents eating up all the spare time she had. The Nolans were working hard on earning their daughter's affection and every night since she moved here, Emma spent the evenings with her family while Killian sat alone, staring out the dining room window torturing himself with the past.

'_I love the sound of the waves rolling in. It sounds like thunder.'_

'_Do you _ever_ get tired of the sea?' Killian teased. She didn't answer; instead she twisted around to him and commanded,_

'_Tell me you love me.' Milah turned her face to him, capturing his undivided attention in her hypnotic pale eyes._

'_I love you.' He placed a kiss on her nose, 'I love you always,' placing another on her cheek, 'and especially when you're lying underneath me,' he whispered into her ear._

'_You scoundrel!'_

'_I am a man, Milah. A man with needs and desires—" he reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver band with turquoise diamonds—just like the sea she loved so much, 'and a ring. It's not much, but it's a symbol that I never want to part from you, my love. Will you do me the honors?' __Killian was doing his best not to let his hand shake, revealing how nervous he actually was that she'd reject him._

That was the thing about Milah, you never knew what she would do or how she'd react.

You just had to hope she wasn't playing a game with you; that she was being serious. He never could read her completely, the only thing he knew for sure was that he would _never _know for sure. What she felt or what she thought would always be a mystery and he was completely and absolutely ready to spend the rest of his days trying to figure it out.

It was the tragic flaw in their romance.

_Milah never said yes; instead, she just looked at him with all the affection she could muster, hoping he'd get lost in her intense and magnetic gaze—as he always did—and kissed him with so much passion that he didn't even notice the ring fall onto the sand._

* * *

_**Friday Night**_

"Well, look at that. It's a house now!" Jefferson laughed at Killian. "Will you be entertaining us in the living room first?"

"Only if you mean my fist to your face as entertainment," Killian replied back with an innocent smile.

Jefferson and Killian were always taking verbal jabs at each other. They had a bit of a rivalry that didn't go unnoticed by their other companions—Leroy and Graham.

Graham stepped in, mannerly as he was, "Okay, okay, you two, that's enough. Besides, you two might be able to wipe each other's tears when I clean you all out."

"Oh, big talk from our sheriff who does... Wait, what is it that you actually do again?" Leroy shamed him.

"Someone's extra snippy today. Tired of looking up at us all the time?" Jefferson taunted, ending the boys' little banter. Leroy mumbled something inaudible and no doubt profane.

They all sat while Graham, the most noble of the four, shuffled the deck. That's when Emma emerged on the phone with Mary Margaret.

"Yeah, I know, but I'm really not up for dinner tonight." Emma gave a small and polite wave to the boys at the table and walked into the kitchen.

"Hey man, is that your new roommate?" Jefferson whispered, leaning into the table for Killian to hear.

"Yes…" Killian answered with clear annoyance in his voice as he distributed poker chips.

"She's a total babe—she single?"

"Oh, I don't know, Jefferson. Why don't you ask her?" Killian replied rather loudly.

"Ask me what?" Emma returned with a bowl of popcorn.

The boys all froze, staring guiltily at her, waiting for someone to say something. Lucky for them, Emma continued without waiting for them to answer.

"Oh yeah. Poker night, right Graham?" Everyone turned to Graham as if he had betrayed their secret.

_'Of course Graham had been blabbering away at work earlier,'_ Killian rolled his eyes. "Care to lose to me?" Killian smirked.

"Actually, I'd much rather wipe that smirk off your face, but yeah. Sure, I'll play," she gave him a tight-lipped smile which Killian couldn't help but return. She was quick. Feisty.

"We're short a chair, but here, let me—" Killian was cut off and thrown under the bus, as usual, by Jefferson who then offered his.

"You should really try to be more of a gentleman when around a lady, Jones. I'll be happy to grab the one in the spare room. Emma, please, I insist you take my place," Jefferson laid on thickly. Emma thanked him and sat down across from Killian.

"That smells good," Leroy commented, staring at the bowl.

"Here, I don't mind sharing."

Killian observed in dismay that poker night was turning into a snack buffet, but when everyone's competitiveness started to peak out the beers, the popcorn, and the chips were all forgotten.

Not too long later, Jefferson was cleared out, but enjoying the view of Emma doing quite well. Next to go was Graham. Emma, Killian, and Leroy were left fighting for the pot, but Leroy folded and mumbled something unpleasant, again.

"Hate to break it to you, Swan, but you'll never win. I'd give up now before we have to start playing for clothes," he wriggled his eyebrows, trying to provoke her, but Emma only broke her poker face to narrow her eyes at him. Her eyes searched his and, satisfied with what she found, she broke her stoicism and stretched.

"You're full of it," she said confidently, "You got nothing." In the end, she was right. His acting skills had made him superior to the boys, but Emma's keen sense of finding the truth saw right through his façade. Trying on the pet names he loved to use so much, she smirked, "Sorry, _sweetheart. _Read 'em—and—weep."

Killian was floored, he was rarely beaten by the boys and on Emma Swan's first time playing with him, she got him.

"Would you like a tissue, Killian?" she mock pouted. The boys went crazy around her, laughing and yelling. Jefferson slyly slung his arm over Emma's shoulder and congratulated her which she shrugged out of almost immediately.

"You've bested me, Emma Swan. Not many can claim to have done that. Just take Jefferson for example; never won a single game."

"He's just mad because I get to sit next to the prettiest winner this table has ever seen," Jefferson replied smugly.

Emma drank with the boys and listened to all the hilarious and slightly embarrassing stories they shared. After the laughter died down and their little party pushed later and later into the night, everyone said their goodbyes not before praising Emma for the house's new appeal.

"Good game, lass," Killian held out his hand.

"Good game."

* * *

_**Saturday Morning**_

There was a cheerful knock on the door. "Who the bloody hell…" Killian left the question suspended in air. He walked to the door and noticed an extra jacket hanging on the rack—Jefferson, sneaky bastard. Listening to his intuition, Killian yanked the jacket down and opened the door.

"Oh Killian, sorry, I left my jacket last night and—"

"Sorry, _mate_. She's not here. Gone with her parents."

"Oh," was all he replied before taking the jacket and striding off down the walkway, not even bothering with any parting pleasantries towards Killian.

"Out with my parents, huh?"

Killian froze with his hand still on the door knob. He thought she was still sleeping.

"It's okay, Killian," she smirked, wandering towards the coffee maker, "Did me a favor. He's kind of a slime ball."

Killian chuckled to himself, with this woman, there would be no secrets and he didn't have a say in the matter. _'Not like with…'_ his thoughts turned dark and he walked to his bedroom and softly shut the door.

He rarely came out the rest of the day. Emma knew something was up with him, but it wasn't her place to ask, so she dismissed it—enjoying the rest of her day unpacking and rearranging her things.

* * *

When Sunday rolled around, it was like Killian was a whole new person. He wasn't brooding in his room, but cooking in the kitchen when Emma got home from a long day of spending time with her parents.

"You're cooking. I didn't know you could cook," Emma fibbed.

"My dearest Emma, you lie, but I'll overlook it this once. Also, I do not simply _cook_—I _create._ Here," he said with a charisma that had been missing yesterday. He handed her the spoon.

"Wow, this is like really good."

"My mum used to make it. Hungry?" He already began fixing her a bowl.

"Starved, actually," Emma accepted the invitation with enthusiasm. She didn't want to admit it, but she was relieved to have him back like this—not the withdrawn and quiet Killian she had seen so many times coming home and walking straight to his dark room. "So where'd you learn how to cook?"

"Graham and I, when we were boys, were often left to our own devices—deadbeat fathers," he glanced up and said it in a way that Emma knew all too well—it simply was what it was adn there was no use dwelling on it. "Deciding no more cereal and quick fixes one day, we started to experiment with my mum's old recipe book. I did most of the experimenting though while Graham played lab rat."

"Ever make him sick?"

"Oh, loads of times."

Emma liked this Killian. He was open and honest as he told her more stories of all the shenanigans he and Graham had gotten into, but Emma, with her acute skill of finding buttons, started to delve a little deeper.

"So, you left your hometown two years ago?" Killian got quiet again, trying to find a way to phrase the truth without setting off her alarms.

"With Graham, after my father's funeral."

"When'd you leave the first time?"

"You're a smart woman, Swan. Maybe too smart." He leaned on the counter separating Emma, sitting on her stool, and him. "I was twenty-three, left with a friend."

"A _lady_-friend? Was it Milah?"

"And that is where our conversation stops. Enjoy the stew, darling," he closed himself off and walked away, leaving Emma sitting alone at the kitchen bar counter.

She couldn't help it. She was intrigued by this intangible Milah character whose name held so much power over Killian, but Emma was still racked with guilt for aiding his sour mood and decided that she wouldn't bring 'Milah' up again—no matter how curious she was.

* * *

The week was nearing to a close and Emma, who wanted nothing more than to satisfy her workaholic nature by taking on the weekend, was overruled by Graham who suspiciously insisted that he just had to work this particular weekend. There was definitely something he was keeping from her, but she couldn't tell what. She had a guess though—it had something to do with Killian who had requested the entire week off and stayed locked up in his room.

'_This guy really has some high-high's and low-low's.'_ One minute he was cooking dinner and making polite conversation and the next he was a storm cloud—his emotions raining down on him tenfold.

She just couldn't figure it out. _Was Milah a friend or more than a friend? Had she passed away? Is she why he's so upset?_

Friday came and went—the house eerily silent with their poker night being cancelled. Emma, not being able to stand the tension, went to bed as early as eight o'clock. After hours of tossing and turning she looked to her alarm clock, the red numbers blazing through the darkness of her room: 2:30 AM.

That's when she heard footsteps arise in the room down the hall and listened to Killian's loud sigh as he closed his bedroom door and left the house_._

'_Where could he be going at 2:30 in the morning?'_

Killian left and went down to the beach where he walked… and walked… and walked across the endless stretch of sand until he saw the sky turn bright with the rising sun. He had walked for hours and finally collapsed on the deserted beach. He had slept horribly, dreaming of Milah leaving him, running from him, disappearing in front of him and was running on fumes. No longer able to keep awake, he closed his eyes and returned again to a world where everything was Milah and everything hurt.

* * *

_Buzz. Buzz. _

Emma's phone vibrated along the top of her nightstand with a call from the station.

_Buzz. Buzz._

She finally answered, croaking out a very sleepy, 'Hello,' though it was already well into early noon.

"Emma? It's Graham, um, is Killian there? At the house?"

"Killian!" She called lazily from bed. No answer. "He's not answering," she sighed and rolled out of bed reluctantly. "Hold on."

She walked over to his bedroom door, knocking and calling his name, but there was still no answer. She wasn't sure if it was okay, but Emma twisted the knob quietly nonetheless and pried open the door. The light from the hall fell on his unused, immaculately made bed.

"He's not here, Graham."

"Shit—"

"Graham, what's going on? What's wrong with him? He's been acting weird all week."

"It's—uh—complicated.

"He kind of just left last night and I don't think he ever came back."

"You know what? I'll keep trying his phone. Maybe it's on silent—Bye!" he hung up before Emma could question him anymore about what was going on, but it didn't take a genius to know that it was something seriously bad.

* * *

Graham called Killian more times than he could keep track of until he finally answered, "Yes?"

"Why haven't you been answering?! I've called you nearly forty times."

"Really, forty," Killian said emptily, "Sorry, I didn't hear it ring."

"Bullshit you didn't hear it ring. Where are you?! And don't say at home."

"I took a walk on the beach, that's all."

"Emma said you left in the middle of the night, please don't tell me you've been wandering since then."

"Fine. I won't tell you."

"Damn it. Where are you?"

"Don't really know where I am exactly—far, definitely far."

"Well, walk your ass back to Storybrooke so I can pick you up."

"Yes dear."

Graham was so peeved that he hung up on Killian without a goodbye and drummed his fingers furiously on his desk. If this was how Killian was acting now, then it was sure to be a long night ahead of them. It was only a matter of time before Killian deteriorated into a messy pool of misery.

Today was _the_ day.

The day Killian's heart would never let him escape unscathed.

Today was the day Milah had first broken his heart and left him alone.

* * *

_***sigh* I can't wait for Emma to break him out of this funk. Thanks for reading!**_


	7. Simple Really

_**Who else is enjoying that picture of Captain Charming?! I know I am-one day, one day my friends**_

* * *

**Chapter 7: Simple Really**

Hours later, Graham received a call from a well worn out Killian and grabbed his keys.

_'I could always lock him up again,' _he thought resentfully as he made his way towards the harbor.

Killian was laying down on one of the piers, his legs swinging off the ledge with the heavy wind. He was tired, mentally and physically, but the numbness of his excursions still wasn't enough to shut it all off. He still thought of Milah and felt the gaping hole in his chest. He tortured himself with the same questions as last year: _Where is she? Is she safe? Is she dead? Has she forgotten him or met someone else? Is she searching for him?_

That last question in particular nearly killed him every anniversary because if she was, there was no way for her to find him. They would be two people lost in a sea of others and most likely on opposite sides of the Atlantic, no less.

His thoughts were interrupted by a shadow cast on his face, blocking the warm afternoon sun. It was a fuming Graham, but after staring long enough at each other, Graham's face softened with sympathy for his friend and held out his hand.

Killian could be so reckless in trying to abandon his pain and escape his own mind that he owed Graham more than he could ever make up for. He looked after him for the last two years. They were brothers, not by the same blood, but brothers nonetheless, and for the briefest moment, Killian felt the relief he was searching for on that beach with his friend. He didn't know what he'd do without Graham—probably be completely alone in addition to feeling depressingly lonely.

After all, Graham had given him a fresh start in a new town, a friend when he desperately needed one, more friends since moving here, and lastly, Graham was the reason Emma Swan was now in his life, too; and that was another ordeal entirely in itself. His ambivalent feelings toward her. No doubt she was beautiful, he'd admitted that easily the night they met in the bar, and there was definitely more to her than she liked to reveal. She was a mystery to him, a mystery he was curious to see if he could unravel much like—Like a flash of lightning, grief struck and every nerve in his body was on fire. Graham walked him over to the car and drove Killian to the station.

He stayed there, silent, choosing to be left with his repeating thoughts of Milah—Emma Swan popping into his head occasionally to relieve his stress before his brain exploded, but after a few hours of lying on the cell cot, he decided to leave the station and Graham who kept reprimanding him every thirty fifteen minutes to stop thinking so much.

_Emma_.

Emma Swan—with her way of groaning at his cockiness and flirty banter then turning around and being so unspokenly compassionate to his silent troubles. He wanted the distraction of her presence so badly. Killian decided that being around Emma as much as he could today would be the much better and healthy alternative than sulking alone, drowning in his own anguish over Milah. However, when he came home, he discovered she had gone and the little hope that had been spurred in him by the feisty quipping blonde disappeared. Promising to return after work, Graham left and Killian checked the time.

Five o'clock. Drinking time, but with it being _the _day, the whole day might as well be drinking time. He was allowed to have one day a year to sink to his old man's level. Killian pulled out a new bottle of whiskey from the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass, then another, and so on until his head swarmed with good memories of Milah dancing and being fearless. Then they turned dark, tinged with his own anger, with each drink he had until he was thoroughly drunk, laying on the living room couch—staring at the cold fireplace through heavy lidded eyes.

His glass slipped from his hand and crashed onto the wooden planks below. Killian cursed and with much effort managed to lift himself upright to bend down and attempt to pick up the pieces. His hand received a shallow slice from the shards and he cursed again. Too intoxicated and frustrated to care, he allowed himself to fall back onto the couch and held his hand to his chest.

He was a drunken mess, _just like his father_—over a woman_, just like his father_—he was becoming _just like his father_. The thought made Killian's blood boil, he hated himself, his old man, and most of all, right then and there, he hated Milah for being so selfish.

'That's right, she was selfish,' Killian spoke into the emptiness.

She was a self-absorbed woman who cared only of her own false freedom. She never cared about him, not the way he cared about her; with all her forced 'I love you's. And, on top of it, she never did give him an answer that day on the beach then always finding an excuse to never wear the ring.

She was never his, but he was always her slave.

_'Not anymore,'_ he thought angrily.

Killian groaned at the combination of the stinging cut flesh of his palm and the sharp pain in his chest. Whether she—Milah or Emma, he couldn't decide in all his intoxicated confusion—wanted him or not, she wasn't here, and here was where he needed someone most.

That's when he heard keys jangling outside the door—as if hearing his silent plea, Emma swung open the door. She scanned the dark house until she spotted Killian draped over the couch.

"Killian?"

"Hey beautiful," he slurred heavily. "Was just thinking about you." Emma turned on the light and saw blood smeared across his shirt.

"Oh my god," she dropped everything and ran to Killian, leaving the door wide open.

"Jesus, you idiot! What'd you do?!" Emma inspected the cut. It wasn't that bad, clean cut, but it needed some attention.

"I got into a fight with the glass. It won," he smirked and she glowered at him in return.

"Where's the first aid kit?"

"Nope."

"'Nope what?" she said with no patience.

"Don't have any," he said with a smile; a smile for no reason other than having her here.

"You're smiling an awfully lot for someone who just sliced open his hand. Ugh, hold on." She opened cabinets and drawers and turned up with nothing. "Damn it! We have five million vases in this house, but no first aid kit. That's just great!" she shrieked in frustration which Killian found so amusing he burst into a fit of laughter as she went to her room.

Emma came back with a pair of scissors and an old over-sized t-shirt which she then cut a strip from.

"Do I even need to ask if you have rubbing alcohol?"

"Do I even need to answer?" She rolled her eyes and went over to the cabinet. She pulled out a bottle of vodka and came back to the couch.

"Love, are you trying to get me drunk?" He raised an eyebrow, "Because if do take advantage of me, I'd like to remember it."

"You're pretty sharp for a man who's polished an entire bottle of whiskey by himself," she shoved him over so she could sit.

"What, what are you doing—_AH!_ _That burns!" _Killian gritted through his teeth.

"Well, it should," Emma said, screwing the top back onto the bottle with a wry smile on her face. "I don't know if it actually works. Can't always trust the movies." She grabbed his hand and put it on her lap. Killian couldn't help but adore her unwavering concentration as she wrapped the homemade bandage around his hand.

Watching her take care of him, concern etched onto her face, made him feel at peace. In that moment, he never wanted her to let go of his hand because for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was actually worth a damn.

"That's better," she looked at the mess on the floor and sighed. _Carefully_ picking up the pieces and discarding them in the kitchen, she returned.

Killian spoke softly, still slurring his words, "Thank you, Emma, love." She sat there beside him, staring down at the poor mess that was Killian Jones. Something was wrong with today, she could feel it. It's like all this time had been leading up to this moment—building and building until it exploded, shredding every last bit of strength Killian had.

"Let's get some heat in here, it's freezing."

She started a new fire. Emma Swan had, once again, literally brought light back into his cold and shadowy world. She gave his arm a pat and left for the hallway. Killian felt his heart sink, he didn't want her to leave him, but he couldn't ask that of her._ 'She owes me nothing, so why would she—'_

"Here," she sat back down with a clean t-shirt. "Change into this before all that blood stains." She helped pull him upright and waited for him, a slight blush creeping onto her face.

"Feel free to touch." Emma rolled her eyes, but her face was a clear giveaway. She never denied that he was attractive, but… _'No. Stop it now, Emma,' _she warned herself. Finally freeing himself from his shirt, which he took all the time in the world to do, she went to the sink and soaked it.

"I left with Milah first," Killian shouted from the living room. Having caught her attention, Emma turned the water off and walked back to the sofa.

"What did you say?" she asked, sitting next to his legs.

"Home. I left with Milah years ago when I was a lad."

"Why'd you leave?"

"Nothing to stay for, except Graham, but Milah—she had me in an instant," he slurred lazily, snapping his fingers to emphasize his point.

"Where is she now?" Emma regretted the question as soon as it escaped her lips.

"She left me after I proposed to her," Killian confessed; his reserve, his filter were gone after that fifth drink. He laughed at himself, a sad laugh as he recalled how stupid he had been for thinking she had said yes. She never said yes—she never said no; she just kept stringing him along, a token from her travels. "I told her I wanted a family, she got scared and ran away…"

"How long ago?" Emma pressed. She wanted to know the story, the reason why Killian Jones was so haunted.

"Five years ago, today." Killian stared at the bouncing light on the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," Emma looked down at her hands. _What else was she to say?_

"Don't be, it's not your fault." Bitterness dripped from his words, "It's _hers_—and that blackhole of a heart. Sucked me right up, but I wasn't enough. No one will ever be enough. I'll never be enough," he repeated again. He was starting to ramble in his drunkenness. Emma shook her head, her hair swaying in the glow of the fire.

"Come on, don't say stuff like that. She didn't deserve you. Even though you're annoyingly smug all the time, Milah definitely didn't deserve you, Killian."

Killian laughed and tilted his head up to look at her, "I like you, Emma. No, I _really_ like you. You literally bring light into this place—," he gestured to the fire as if it were the most magnificent thing he'd ever seen, "and to me. You bring light to me. I like you," he repeated himself again.

Emma didn't know what to say. '_It's just the alcohol talking.'_

"Alright, buddy," she slung his arm over her shoulders and got him to stand. "I think it's time to call it night, yeah? You need to sleep it off. And aspirin, you're going to need a lot of it tomorrow."

Killian stopped walking and leaned closer to Emma, his eyes trying to focus on her hazel-green eyes. There was nothing pale, cold, or closed-off about them, they were bright. They said so much. She looked more breath-taking than ever before. His face softened and Emma's breath hitched at the way he looked at her.

Emma started to struggle with keeping her balance. She could only hold him up for so long and if he wasn't going to walk, then her only chance after that was to drag him by his feet. Part of her didn't want to break the moment, it was so honest—no games, but, as was her way, she did.

Without intending to, her voice came out breathy and low,"We need to get you some sleep, Killian."

At the sound of his name, his lips came crashing down against hers. He loved the taste of her, her scent more intoxicating and euphoric than any amount of alcohol could ever bring. At first, she remained frozen in shock, but the feeling of his warm lips on hers made her eyes flutter closed and she gave the slightest press back.

That's when Killian's head began to spin and he lost the little bit of balance he had. His weight was too much for Emma to support, so they went tumbling back against the wall then finally onto the floor.

Emma's head knocked onto the floorboards and she groaned in pain. She opened her eyes and at the door was a wide-eyed Graham.

"Whoa! Uh, sorry, I didn't mean to—You know the door was wide open and um—I told Killian I would stop by and... Damn it, man! You could have called!" Graham stammered.

Killian was like dead weight in all his inebriation on Emma's torso, his breath tickling her neck and stubble lightly scratching her collarbone. Emma tried to roll him off of her, "It's not like that, Graham. Help me!"

Graham, still embarrassed, ran over to lift Killian up. They both helped him to bed and Emma shut the door on the now passed out Killian sprawled out on his bed.

"Thanks for taking care of him, Emma."

"Well his hand got cut on some glass, I'm not sure how much I actually helped—and it wasn't like that," she glared, pointing a finger warningly at him. The expression on Graham's face, however, teasingly said he wasn't convinced.

"Yeah."

"He fell!"

"Yeah. Sure looked like his face fell onto your face."

"Ugh. You know what, good night, Graham!" and she shut the door behind him.

* * *

The next morning, Killian woke up with a blaring headache. He was pretty sure his skull was splitting open. It hurt to lie down, it hurt to sit up, and he felt the incurable nausea of a hangover. His hand was wrapped in what looked like an old shirt. He peeked underneath and saw blood encrusted on this palm.

'_What the hell happened yesterday?'_

Emma lay in her bed staring at the door. She could hear heavy footsteps walking to the bathroom.

He kissed her—he _kissed_ her, and she kissed him back. Emma continued to stare at the door with, eyes wide with shock and fear. She was imagining him somewhere on the other side probably thinking about how desperate she was to kiss a drunk man back.

_'I kissed him back, what the hell possessed me to do something like that?'_ But she knew; it was those eyes of his, so clear like the ocean itself. She heard a loud groan of pain come from Killian's room.

A part of her told her to go give him some aspirin, to talk to him, and see if he remembered anything. Another part told her to hide in her room and never come out again. She decided not to listen to the second, to her surprise, and moved to grab the bottle of water and tablets off her desk. She tiptoed down the hall and softly knocked on his door. She was met with a miserable whine to come in.

"Hey, how are you doing?" she did her best not to raise her voice too loud; she wasn't a stranger to hangovers.

"Are you seriously asking me that?" he looked at her with dead eyes.

"I bring aspirin. Hangover cure from the gods," she smiled. He was acting surprisingly normal considering everything. This was a good sign, maybe he didn't regret it. It wasn't just in a drunken haze.

"Trust me, there are no gods if it's possible to feel this way," he tossed the pills back and took a big gulp of water which only made him want to throw up more. Fighting the feeling, he thanked Emma and, before sipping again, asked, "What the hell did I do to my hand last night?" She tried to play it cool.

"You don't remember?"

"I do not. God, I hope you didn't have to see me like that. I'm sure I was a bloody mess." He didn't remember anything. Nothing about the kiss, his hand, or everything he confided in her about Milah. It was like they were back at square one, and, feeling cowardly, she decided not to fill him in.

_'It's not like it meant anything anyway, so... No harm done,'_ she told herself.

"You, um, cut it on some glass. Graham helped you out and no, I was with my parents, so…" she lied and felt a flash of fear right after; he always knew when she was keeping something.

"Poor Graham. Actually no, poor me, this is the worst I've ever felt in my entire life." Apparently his senses were impaired; feeling like you're dying will do that to you though. "Thanks for the aspirin. Don't know what I'd do without you," he gave her a weak smile.

"Uh, do you need anything else? Or..."

"No, no. I'm fine, you go about your day; I can take care of it from here." Killian's head fell back against his pillows and Emma retreated from his room.

She needed to get out. Talking wouldn't be so bad either right now. She grabbed her phone and called the one person she knew she could confide in, "Hey, mom? Can we go out? Don't tell dad."

* * *

Graham pulled up one of the cobblestones and dug up the spare key. He knocked first and upon opening the door, yelled out in warning, "Guys? It's me, Graham. Just coming by to check up. No one? Okay, coming in!" He hung his jacket on the rack and closed the door behind him, still no sign of life in the house which meant Killian must be properly dying after _the _day. Popping in some toast, Graham started whistling random tunes and heard Killian growl behind him,

"Stop. Whistling." Dragging himself onto one of the kitchen stools, he let his head fall against the cold tile of the bar counter.

"Oh boy, you're in rough shape," Graham commented a little too loudly, making Killian tense up. "Ooh! Sorry," Graham apologized a little softer. "Toast?" putting the plain toast in front of him. Killian rested his throbbing head on his hand and looked at his grinning friend. "So... Where's Emma?" Graham couldn't help but tease. A suffering and confused Killian stared at him in irritation.

"Don't know."

"I just thought after last night, you know… _You know_," Graham raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"What the hell are you going on about?"

"You don't remember?"

"My brain is currently occupied by pain."

"You two? Floor? In a very compromising position at that." A surge of adrenaline shot through his body.

"Wait, what?"

"Well, I don't know. It was kind of hard to see, from the yard and all, but it looked like you guys were getting pretty comfy there then... Well, she'd probably know more—you know, having been _under_ you. How's your hand by the way? Emma said you cut it pretty bad."

"Wait, Emma told _you_?" He distinctly remembered her saying it was the opposite. She lied. "Was she with me the whole night?"

"I guess so. I didn't get off until around nine."

"What the bloody hell happened last night?" he squeezed the sides of his head, trying to force himself to remember through all the searing pain.

* * *

"You kissed him?!" Mary Margaret shouted inside her car, a big smile on her face.

"_He_ kissed _me_," Emma corrected, "I just… you know—oh, don't make me say it again!"

"Wow, Emma, what're you going to do?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Emma said with pleading eyes.

"Well, honey, how do you feel?" Mary Margaret regained her composure to help out her daughter.

"I don't know. He's just—we—I don't know!"

"How do you feel about him?" Knowing another embarrassed, 'I don't know,' wouldn't be helpful, she considered him for a minute.

"He irritates me."

"That all?"

"He's annoying as hell."

"And?"

"I don't feel scared around him. Not like I have... before."

"Continue." Emma sighed loudly and closed her eyes, just letting herself voice all the thoughts running through her head.

"He's... He's so... Weird! One minute he's happy, the next he's absolutely miserable and now I know why, but I'm not sure if I'm really supposed to know why! I don't like it when he's like that though, it's... Sad and I just want to fix it, but I can't because we're not—he's not—Yeah, he's so goddamn smug all the time, but he's actually really, like, broken. And thinks he deserves it."

"That's an awful lot of consideration for just a roommate," Mary Margaret tried to hide her grin.

"Well, I'm around him so much, so..."

"How'd it feel when he kissed you?"

"Mom! I feel kind of weird talking to my mom about this—"

"Stop it, Emma, you're old enough now that we can skip the 'birds and the bees' talk, right? So, how did it feel?"

"I don't want to think about how it felt."

"You obviously do if you wanted to sneak behind your father and talk to me about it."

"It felt, I don't know… Good? Ugh, this is stupid. I don't know! It made me feel... special. But scared. No one's looked at me like that in a long time."

"Would you say you felt happy? Even for a split second?"

"Yes..."

"Well there's your answer! So why not pursue the thing—or _person—_that makes you happy? I think it's simple really."

"_Mom,"_ Emma said like a distressed teenage girl, "You just don't get it! We live together and—"

"Emma, just go talk to him. He has to remember something."

And Killian did start to remember some things from the night before. He lay on the sofa trying to jog his memory. He remembered seeing Emma, looking like an ethereal beauty by the fire, and then recalled her green eyes looking up at him.

Emma closed the front door, avoiding eye contact, and after giving Killian a friendly, "Hi!" She quickly hung her scarf and jacket and started to run to her room. Killian called out after her,

"So what is this I hear about enjoying the living room floor in front of Graham last night?" Emma froze, her back still to Killian.

"I—I don't know what you're talking about," she lied, again.

"Two lies in one week. Thought we agreed not to do that, love."

She turned around to face him, "I'm not—"

"Yes you are. Come here, you're going to help me piece together my memory of last night."

* * *

_**Thanks again to everyone reading. Comment?**_


	8. Cowards

_**Hope you're enjoying the ride**_

* * *

**Chapter 8: Cowards**

The kiss did mean something to Emma, but Mary Margaret's advice was just too simple.

How could she ever pursue a man who was so obviously hung up on a old flame? Would she ever even compare or just live in _her_ shadow?

"You told me about Milah and the kiss," Emma had too much pride and she was scared of being rejected—of adding this to her long list of rejections, so she opted out, "well I think it was more of a distraction than anything else," she said it more to herself than Killian.

"I told you about Milah?" He was so confused. Even drunk, he couldn't believe he'd ramble on to Emma, of all people, about the most devastating love of his life.

"Yes."

He felt a tendency to revel in the storm that was Milah because he had spent so long letting it thrash him about like a boat at sea. He had gotten used to the waves, to the suffering, and it was all he knew—until now. Now, he had this surprising, attractive, infuriatingly stubborn, and confusing woman sitting beside him.

Milah was exactly like a storm—powerful and devastating, yet mesmerizing, and Emma, well, she was kind of like sunshine—fiery, clear as day, and warm. It gave him hope that maybe there was something else for him other than waiting and longing for his Milah. He wasn't used to change, he'd been so set in his ways, his ritual suffering, that it scared him. He was so scared that he told her,

"I don't remember much, but I'm sorry I did that to you. I overstepped my boundaries_. _It was a_ mistake," _he emphasized, lowering his head and shielding his eyes from her.

He was lying, of course, that's why he couldn't look at her. It wasn't a mistake. He wanted to and alcohol only gave him the courage to do what the coward in him was too afraid to try. In truth, between bouts of unrelenting memories of Milah, he let his mind wonder what it would be like to be with someone else, someone like Emma. A woman with a light that he had never encountered before, but he wasn't certain he was ready for the clouds to disappear. They were clouds that darkened his life, but they were the only thing he had left of Milah.

Pursuing Emma Swan just wasn't fair right now and right now, he had some inner demons to work out.

Emma put on a good show and accepted the apology; in reality though, she felt the pain of rejection—of having, for the first time in a long while, her hopes crumble to pieces. Had she imagined their chemistry? The tension between them? Apparently yes because the man in front of her just cast away something that'd been driving her insane all night and day.

He used her to try to escape his ex and she was thankful he passed out when he did because he'd only have played her even more if it continued.

Worse, she would've let him. She prided herself in being so tough, smart, and controlled, but here she was; acting like a vulnerable, stupid little girl.

Emma would _never_ trust this man with her feelings. _'It made me feel special.' _Could she be any more of an idiot? She had let her guard down and promised herself that it would never happen again.

* * *

Days passed without issue. There was no more flirting in the kitchen. No more poker nights with the boys. No more eye rolls, smirks, or quips.

Then weeks passed and before they knew it, Killian Jones and Emma Swan had gone back to being perfect strangers.

Killian went back to working every shift he could get his hands on.

Emma spent more time with her parents.

Mary Margaret could sense something wrong with her daughter, but Emma refused to talk about it; always changing the subject or dismissing any conversation about Killian. David, oblivious as always, still continued to try and steer his daughter in the direction of Graham.

Sure, Graham was a good guy, cute, amiable, but there was something about the way Killian would smile at her. She had chemistry with Graham and for a while, she even considered going for it, but then she realized that it was because of Killian. He somehow invaded her brain and now she couldn't get the smirking little bastard out. Then again, she couldn't pine over a man who won't give her a second glance let alone a real conversation.

It had been two months since they said more than a 'hi' and 'bye' to each other and she was starting to feel crazy. She didn't know how much longer she could take this tension. She didn't know how much longer she could tell herself it was nothing.

* * *

It took all of Killian's self-control not to engage with Emma in some way. She was a strong lass, but he could read her—and the unforgiving look in her eyes let on that she was more affected by his withdrawal than he'd thought she'd be. He couldn't be with her though, not while Milah was still a nagging fixture in the back of his mind, but as the months went by, he discovered that pretending Emma didn't exist made him just as, if not more, depressed than Milah's abandonment.

He was so close to breaking his silent vow to leave Emma Swan alone—to let her live her life in certainty than wasting her efforts on himself—but he could feel his resolve breaking. He never received any reprieve from either women; especially in his dreams where now fearless and uninhibited versions of himself and Emma existed. Then he'd wake up and reality would set in; there was just too much making things impossible for them.

He'd often lie awake listening to her shuffle about the house. He pretended not to care, but really he was so hyper-vigilant to her expressions, sighs, voice, and movements that it was driving him insane. He craved the way she'd study him, trying to understand everything he left unsaid; the lilt in her voice when she'd tell him off for saying something outrageously flirtatious; and then how she'd try to hide her smiles and look unamused by his antics. She just had so much life and he wanted to share in it, to relish the feeling, but out of respect for the lady, he didn't. He kept his distance for her own good.

Until that Friday night came along.

Jefferson along with it.

"Sorry boys, but I can't stay any longer, I'm late as it is," he said braggingly.

"And why is that, Jefferson," Killian said dryly, "Finally given up hope on winning? There's a lad," flashing him a mocking smile.

"I'll have you know that this _lad_ has a wonderful evening planned with a certain swan-girl."

Killian stopped what he was doing and looked to Jefferson who sent him a viciously daring smirk. Graham and Leroy both looked at Killian, waiting to, if needed, pull him back before murdering Jefferson. Graham had asked countless times what was going on between him and Emma and every time he either shrugged or ignored the question completely, and Leroy wasn't a fool. He'd seen the way those two walked on eggshells around each other; moreover, he had seen the way Killian would glance at her when her back was turned.

There was something going on, but it was off limits and the boys respected that. Except for Jefferson who went the extra mile to try and piss Killian off—

And he succeeded. Killian was ready to jump over the table and strangle him. This vindictive, dishonest, and untrustworthy asshole was making a move on Emma and she agreed to it?!

"Just know, if you act like anything less than a gentleman, Sheriff Nolan will kill you," Graham warned.

"I think I can take on the _ex_-sheriff of _Storybrooke_," he said cockily, "Besides, I'll only be gentle if she wants me to," he sent a wink Killian's way. Jefferson was enjoying his own wit so much that he didn't realize Killian's knuckles turning bone white by the second. Killian sent back furious eyes that made even Leroy wary. "See ya later, gents."

* * *

Jefferson was thirty minutes late. Emma would've left by now if it wasn't for his text:

_'Sorry I'm running late, had to stay over at work—be there soon ;).'_

Also, it was poker night at the house and she had gotten into the habit of avoiding being there on Fridays. She checked her watch now, forty minutes late; this guy had a real issue with time. After a few more minutes, right as she was drafting an irritated text, he walked in, yellow rose in hand, and greeted her.

"You know yellow symbolizes new beginnings," Jefferson winked.

Emma, exhausted from work and emotionally drained by the infliction that was Killian Jones, replied back, "Or jealousy."

Jefferson signaled for a waiter, clearly already tuning her out, and most of the evening followed suit with Jefferson talking about himself and trying to impress her while Emma tried to enjoy her fettuccini. After her second glass of wine, Emma started to feel woozy and excused herself to the lady's room. Inside, she held each side of the sink and stared numbly at her reflection. She _looked_ exhausted—no, far more than exhausted, she looked drained; like life had drained her dry of any enthusiasm.

"What are you doing?" she asked the woman in the mirror. When someone else walked in, she quickly composed herself and walked back to their table. Jefferson was chatting with the pretty brunette waitress who had taken their order. She cleared her throat and the waitress rolled her eyes at Emma, not-so discreetly slipping her number to Jefferson.

Nope. That's it. She was done.

It didn't matter if Killian was out and about in the house, she wanted to go home and curl up in bed with another bottle of wine. Jefferson was reluctant to end the evening after dinner, clearly he was looking for more, but eventually he let her go—not even bothering to walk her home.

Killian, too, ended the evening early and sat on the porch staring at the stars—trying to map out the constellations. He'd be good at sea, if he ever bought a boat—he could easily navigate the dark waters of the Atlantic by starlight alone.

_'If only I could navigate my life by the stars,'_ he considered cynically. He was pulled away from his thoughts when he saw a flash of pink underneath the streetlamp down the street. It was Emma walking down alone.

_'Bastard,'_ Killian thought. Gentleman, yeah right. How could any man let a woman walk home unaccompanied—no matter how capable the woman was because Emma was definitely capable of handling herself, but it didn't mean she should have to. She was already so close to the house, but it was the gesture that counted, right? He made his way through the yard and jogged over to a very miserable Emma.

_'What is he doing? Shouldn't he be inside avoiding me?'_

"Emma!" He felt a rush, like he could breathe again. It felt good to be able to look at her face freely, not just stealing glances.

"Hi." She didn't have the patience for this, not after the night she had. She was freezing, walking alone in the dark after a horrible date.

"So… How was your night?" Killian inquired nosily, trying not to make it too obvious that he knew she was with Jefferson.

"Fine," she barked.

He stopped on the porch while Emma went straight to the liquor cabinet and grabbed the bottle of wine she had so desperately longed for. She poured herself half a glass, standing at the kitchen counter and chugged it down before pouring another.

"What'd he do to you?" Killian said darkly. She snorted; she didn't have to wonder why Killian knew about their date, no doubt Jefferson bragged—"stuck at work." Yeah, she didn't need her superpower to spot the lie in that one.

"Made me wait an hour. Flirted with the waitress. Wouldn't shut the hell up." She tossed back the rest of the wine in her glass.

"I think that's enough of that—" Killian reached for the bottle which Emma snatched possessively away.

"Why do you care?" she glowered and went to the fireplace which was surprisingly lit without her effort for once.

"I just do, love," Killian said gently.

"Well don't." Emma snapped at him. "And don't call me that either." She walked briskly to her room, slamming it shut, and sliding down to the floor. This was all too confusing—all the mixed signals and awkward tension. She was so tired; yet so addicted to being near him that she couldn't bring herself to leave.

"Emma," Killian knocked. No answer. "Emma," he pleaded.

Emma didn't want to open the door, if she did, she didn't know what she would do with the liquid courage surging through her and she couldn't afford to put meaning on things that were nothing.

* * *

The next morning, Killian got up early and started on breakfast, hoping to catch Emma when she awoke. Emma stayed in bed until noon though and only moved occasionally for the bottle of wine to help with her mild headache.

'_Hair of the dog that bit ya,'_ she thought sulkily.

Killian carried the reheated tray and knocked softly on Emma's door. Emma lazily said, "Go away," but Killian opened the door anyway, holding the tray on display for her, eyes closed like a gentleman.

"I bring blueberry pancakes. Gift from the gods," he repeated her words, eyes still closed. When she didn't answer, he opened his eyes and marveled at her beauty—her tousled golden hair cascading down. Maybe it was because he had denied himself so long to admire her, maybe it was he craved her spirit and fire, but he realized then that he'd love nothing more than to wake up every morning to this ethereal woman who managed to penetrate the storm clouds Milah had left.

And her eyes, so very green—and in this moment unnervingly piercing and still burning with last night's bitterness, he noted.

"Emma, please talk to me," he begged, placing the tray down on her desk.

"Oh now you want to talk to me."

"I thought that—"

"_Thought what_, Killian? Thought what? That I would want to confide in _you_ after a bad night out? Well, sorry to wound your ego, but you're not my friend," she said with a sharp tongue, but he deserved it after the way he'd shut her out these last couple of months. He nodded and left her alone.

He needed some air to clear his head and Emma needed her space to regret her words.

Killian walked along the waterline, the tide numbing his skin the way he wished it would numb his mind. He couldn't erase Milah from his memories or his past and for a long time, despite how painful it got, he didn't want to. Now there was a glimmer of something new, a hope that, if only he learned to let go, he could finally start a new kind of life in Storybrooke. Maybe with Emma in it—if she'd even have him. That didn't seem likely right now.

Emma Swan wasn't a flowers and chocolate type of girl—well, maybe the chocolate. It would take something that would prove that he was different which was true; since he met her, she sparked something back to life in him, something that had been dormant for far too long. God, why he had tried to cut her out of his life was beyond him now—why he'd tried to remain loyal and in Milah's grasp, when she clearly didn't care about him anymore, was beyond him too.

His only guess was that it was in his comfort zone and that he was a coward for not wanting to stray out of it. Maybe they were supposed to be together, him and Emma. If everything had gone according to plan, he'd have been in New York, too. He might've even met Emma, but as a married man to Milah. Then what?

Maybe destiny brought them here, to meet in Storybrooke where fairytales seemed to come to life. This was the town where perfect, happy endings were possible. So perhaps it was time to open himself up to it.

* * *

Mary Margaret was concerned for her family. Her husband constantly ignored her urging to be more health conscious while her daughter wouldn't even talk about what had her so preoccupied. Both she and David had noticed the way her eyes glazed over when she wasn't speaking—like she was trapped inside her own mind.

David never condoned the idea of Killian Jones being involved with his daughter—he was trouble and he didn't want trouble for his daughter. He was still entangled in another woman's snare and he couldn't break out, so why would he support Mary Margaret in her attempt to push the young couple forward? David Nolan's daughter deserved more than a man half-committed to her. Just so happened that this man approached him as he walked out of the supermarket, carrying more groceries than he could handle.

"You alright there, sheriff?" Killian offered.

"I'm not sheriff anymore," he said icyly, but Killian paid no attention to it and caught the bag of apples rolling out of the paper bag just in time. "Thanks. Yeah, maybe I do need some help." The two walked over to the Nolans' station wagon when David turned to face Killian directly. "I want to ask you something, Jones."

"By all means."

"What's going on with my daughter?" He only thought that Killian would have some sort of guess as to what was troubling his daughter since any theories his wife may have were kept locked tight in mother-daughter confidentiality, but Killian misinterpreted him.

"I just—Look, I truly regret what happened between Emma and I," Killian didn't know what Emma had said, but maybe if her parents understood his want to fix things then she'd give him a chance to make it right again. "I didn't mean to hurt her, I was just drinking a bit excessively and she—"

David's blood pressure rose as the portrait of Killian 'hurting' his daughter while he was 'drinking excessively' was painted for him.

Before Killian could finish what he was saying, David cut him off, "How dare you lay a finger on Emma!"

"What—" Killian started, realization finally hitting him.

Oh wait, no, that was David's fist. Killian, caught off guard, stumbled back. He winced through the pain and turned back to explain to David that he got the story all wrong, but David was clutching his left arm, panic on his face.

"I—I think I'm—" David sunk against the car. Killian tried to keep him from falling over as he frantically dialed 911.

David Nolan was having a heart attack.

* * *

_**Oh no, David. Should've listened to your wife. Love it? Hate it? Confused by it? Leave a review below**_


	9. Tricky Hearts

_**Shout out to OfMockingjaysAndPrimroses for the second pair of eyes and insight, can't thank you enough**_

* * *

**Chapter 9: Tricky Hearts**

The deafeningly loud sirens came to a halt as the paramedics hoisted David into the back of the ambulance. Killian sat beside him on the ride over to the hospital, looking down at the powerful man who now hung in the delicate balance between life and death. David struggled to keep his eyes focused, he could feel his heart pulling at the fibers of his mortality, letting it unravel dangerously close to the end.

He could hear Killian's voice, but the words didn't register, only the stabbing pain in his chest when he attempted to breathe did. The lack of oxygen and the pain shooting through his body became too unbearable to endure and eventually he succumbed to the nothingness of unconsciousness.

David couldn't even be brought about by his wife's crying as Dr. Whale explained to them that he had suffered a mild heart attack.

"No invasive procedures will be needed, I assure you. He's in good care, Mrs. Nolan."

"Thank you, Dr. Whale," Emma spoke for Mary Margaret whose shaky breaths and trembling kept her from speaking.

"I have to attend to some of the other patients on the unit, but, Sheriff," they stepped away from Mary Margaret who was now squeezing her husband's hand, "He will have to take it easier from now on—no more 'fighting,' if I'm correct," his voice getting lower with the scandalous information.

"Fighting? Who was he fighting with?" Emma asked in disbelief.

"Well, Killian Jones escorted him here and hearing about the split lip from some of my colleagues, I'd put my money on him." Her temper flared at his name.

"Well, my father's life isn't a gamble, Whale. I'd appreciate it if you stopped gossiping with the nurses and started helping my father recover."

He stood there, mouth agape for a moment then walked away with a tight-lipped smile. All the while, Mary Margaret sniffled as she examined the wire taped to David's finger.

"It's to monitor his heart rate, see on the screen," Emma pointed.

"Emma, I can't believe I almost lost him," her face twisting with pain. Mary Margaret clenched her stomach and covered her mouth as high-pitched cries escaped from her. It was the most heartbreaking scene Emma had ever seen; two people, the loves of each other's lives, almost ripped apart forever.

She pull her mother into a hug, whispering that it would be okay; that he would be just fine. She placed her head on her mother's shoulder and looked at her father. Once he was alright again, she was going to murder Killian for sure.

* * *

"They said it was family only," Killian winced at the cold compress against his mouth. He called Graham as soon as they arrived at the hospital so that he could alert Mary Margaret. He had even tried to call Emma himself, but kept getting her voicemail; probably on her blocked caller's list.

"I still think you should have stayed," Graham handed him a disinfectant wipe for the cut. "You always gotta make things difficult. Now it looks like you're even _more guilty_ for sending David Nolan into a heart attack."

"Guilty! Who's the one who always insisted on lunch from the diner? You're more guilty than I am. I just happened to be the last straw."

"So how is he?"

"Don't worry, mate. He's going to be fine. Dr. Whale said he'll be out before we know it." Graham was quiet; no doubt still worrying about David. Killian nursed his split lip, flinching at the sting. He remembered then the faint scar on his hand and how Emma had helped him when he was too uselessly drunk to do so. She had been so kind in taking care of him. He missed the feel of his hand in hers.

"Stop pining over Milah," Graham called to Killian who was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed Graham watching.

"Actually, no. Not this time. Emma—I was thinking about something she did a while back."

"So, let me get this straight—you weren't lost in thought over Milah, but Emma?"

Killian hadn't considered it that way, but he guessed he was. Since Emma's outburst the other day, all he could think about was Emma. Not that Milah wasn't on his mind at all, but he didn't have the patience to deal with the repetitive self-pitying thoughts that usually accompanied the memory of her.

Why would she want to confide in him? He had taken advantage of her suffering. He tried to come to her rescue when he didn't even have the nerve to confront Jefferson and that disrespectfully mouth of his. Everything he did just seemed to work against him, but that's what happens when you do things half-heartedly.

"Stop thinking so much and speak!" Graham exclaimed in frustration. "What's going on in there?!"

"It doesn't matter."

"What doesn't?"

"No matter… what I _feel_ for Emma, I just can't imagine being with her right now. She deserves more."

"Damn right, she does." Killian shot Graham a confused look.

"Where'd that come from? I thought you were all for me going after Emma."

"No, not like this. You're not the Killian I know. I see glimpses of him when she's around, but this guy in front of me isn't the real you. The Killian I know is a survivor, he fights for what he wants. You, you just wallow in your own tragedy and call it noble."

"What's this—a bloody intervention?"

"Why? Does the truth hurt?" The two men glared at each other challengingly before Killian exploded in raw honesty.

"Yes. It does. It fucking hurts. I can't do anything right by Emma. I'm too—I thought Milah was the one. I thought she was 'it.' Then she skips out and everything I thought I knew was all wrong. Now, I'm just lost." He sat down in his defeat across from Graham and let out a long sigh, "I'm lost… and I don't know what to do. It's been five years and I still don't know what to do."

"Why can't you just let yourself be happy? Milah's not coming back for you and if she did somehow track you down, would you still want her love you? Do you honestly think that you could be in love with her again?" The intensity in Graham's eyes told Killian to shut up until he was done, "Why would you ever want to let someone that disloyal back in? Especially when you've got something here that actually makes you happy! Pursue what makes you happy. Emma makes you happy. Simple as that."

Graham waited for an answer from Killian who only chuckled at his own stupidity as everything he'd been mulling over the last couple of months finally set in.

He wasn't in love with Milah. He was in love with the memory of her—in love with being in love with her. What about the times he had caught her taking walks with other handsome travelers or ignoring him while she danced with another man, leaving him to drink alone and cheer with the rest of the bar's patrons.

He had worn rose-tinted glasses for long enough and now was time to see their relationship for what it was. Maybe he was in love, maybe obsessed, or maybe blindingly grateful for Milah giving him something to chase when he had nothing in his life, but one thing was for certain: what he felt for this fair haired woman here in front of him now was real and Milah was destroying it, even from a distance.

Emma was a pure and bright soul who had already been through so much in her life, and then here he was, keeping her trapped and wandering aimlessly in a labyrinth of his emotions—not too close to reach the center, but not too distant as to find the exit.

* * *

'_That bastard better hope there's more to the story than Dr. Whale oh-so kindly shared.'_

Emma stayed overnight at the hospital, now having moved David into a more comfortable room. Mary Margaret insisted on only needing a small chair next to David's bedside. A little past midnight, Emma tried to get her to go home and get some rest, but she refused and fell asleep, head on his hand, right by his side just as she vowed to always be.

Emma was so awestruck by her mother's dedication for her father. It was a love she had never witnessed before in her life. It was so selfless, honest, and pure.

Sleep.

Sleep was what she needed to get her mind off of her father's heart attack, the fight between him and Killian, and just Killian in general. Reclining back and placing her feet on the striped ottoman, she let herself drift away to the steady rhythm of the heart monitor's beeps.

When she awoke, David was wide-awake, still weak, but strong enough to move over so his wife could lie beside him. They whispered to each other like two teenagers in love, breaking the rules and afraid of getting caught. They were so precious, laughing gently at each other's inaudible words, stealing kisses when the moment arose.

It made Emma feel the full weight of her own wants. She wanted this feeling, too. She wanted to be loved like that, to be cherished while she slept; to be fought for as hard as Mary Margaret did all those years ago when she made the decision to give up her baby for David's safety.

For the first time in years, she admitted to herself that she wanted to love and be loved in the truest way possible, the way her parents had shown her was possible. She was tired of having only herself to rely on. She wanted someone else—she wanted one person in particular, but she felt stupid all over again for wanting someone who didn't want her back.

She let her heart break quietly in the corner of the room while true love thrived just on the other side. The process of her emotional breakdown was, however, interrupted by her parents when they realized she had woken up.

"Sweetheart, how are you?" David asked almost as chipper as his usual self.

"I think I should be asking you that question, dad."

"Better, but still very pissed off." The heart monitor started to beep faster.

"David! Stop it!" Mary Margaret ordered.

"That man hurt you and he's not going to get away with it."

"What man? Killian? Dad, it was… It hurt, yeah, but—"

"Yes, Killian. I punched him square in the jaw. He won't be forgetting that anytime soon."

"Dad! Why would you hit him? The kiss was partly my fault, too. You are way over-reacting about this."

"Kiss?"

"Yes…"

"He didn't hit you?"

"No, of course not!" she scoffed.

"Oh. Whoops," he frowned innocently at his daughter and wife.

"Whoops? You punched a man, sent yourself into a heart attack, scared me half to death, and all you can say is, 'Whoops?'" Mary Margaret growled at David.

"This is why certain people in here shouldn't keep me out of the loop!" he said defensively as Mary Margaret gave him a playful smack on the arm and pointed her finger.

"No more of this macho-standoff nonsense! You're _retired_ and _old_. Too _old_ for fights, and on that note: no more junk food—you're too _old_ to be polluting your body."

"Yes, dear," he sighed, mostly at being called _old_.

David stayed in the hospital for a total of four days before he was discharged. In that time Emma had only left the hospital to go to her parents' house to shower and sleep. If she remembered correctly, today was Killian's one day off—a day that his boss practically forced him to take—and it was also time for her to go back home. She gathered her things once David was settled and promised to visit soon.

With a heavy heart, Emma made her way back home. She just prayed that he wouldn't try to talk to her again. It was hard enough without him reeling her back in with all his politeness and damn blueberry pancakes. That's all it was, Emma had determined—politeness because he was too hung up on his ex. He probably just still felt guilty for kissing her and sorry for how pathetic she was with her horrible date with, of all people, Jefferson. God, how did she let herself fall this low?

She was screwed from the moment _he_ called it a mistake. She didn't even have the chance to dismiss it herself. No, she was just the lovesick roommate who thought it meant something more. If only there was a way to get out of apologizing to Killian for getting decked by her father and thanking him for possibly saving the guy's life in return. Goddamn gentleman bullshit.

* * *

Graham called Killian to let him know David had finally returned home, completely recovered—well, as _recovered_ as someone could be after an episode like that.

He leaned against the counter and wondered if Emma would come back today or keep staying with her parents. He wanted to talk to her, to be around her again. He missed her, the house missed her, and everything seemed empty and lifeless, including himself, without her light.

Silence and stillness permeated the house. He drifted over to the fireplace, as he had done ritually since Emma left, and lit it.

Curling up on the couch like he had so many nights this week, as if waiting for her return, he let his mind rest. Without him even realizing it, his attention was focused more on the present, on Emma and her family, on Graham and his friends; less on what used to be. He was making great strides forward, and as if fated, the universe rewarded him with the sound of Emma's keys rattling outside the door.

She spotted him asleep. He looked so peaceful, untroubled by time and emotional burdens. Emma let her walls down just for a moment, just enough time to grab a blanket and gently covered his sleeping figure. She sat in the arm chair and watched as the fire cast shadows on his face.

He really was beautiful, just so damn haunted. Walking over to him, she knelt down and tested, "Killian?" but he was too deep in his slumber to be reached. Emma took the opportunity to tell him the truth, "I can't afford to be wrong about you... I don't know what I'm doing, but I know I can't let do this anymore, whatever this is," she whispered. He stirred, but stayed asleep and Emma even ventured to place a kiss on his forehead, her lips ghosting over his skin, and then went back to her room feeling so just as haunted herself. Her parents reminded her of something she wanted, something she thought she had once, but she was wrong. She never had it and never would.

* * *

_**Comment?**_


	10. Hope

_**Thank you again to ****OfMockingjaysAndPrimroses**** for reviewing it for me. ****Let me know what you think?**_

* * *

**Chapter 10: Hope**

Flinging the door shut behind her, Emma let herself to collapse onto the floor. She choked back a sob while her own memories, her own hurt, and now all of this made it hard to breathe, to think, and to feel. She just wanted this all to be over and she knew a change in scenery wouldn't do a damned thing. There was no way to escape herself. He had her and she hated him for it because she knew she could never admit it.

Forever she would hide the cracks along her heart just as she had before and no one would ever know because that's what Emma Swan did best. She ran away, she played it cool, and never let anyone see her weak, but here, alone in her room while the town slept, she let out years of heartbreak and the very recent one that had snuck up on her. She pulled her hair up and out of her wet face and let waves of heart-wrenching sadness course through her one by one.

Why her? Of all people this could have possibly happen to, it had to be someone like her. Fate, destiny, the gods, the universe—whoever was in charge must have a sick and twisted sense of humor with the way they continued to mess with her life.

What was Killian thinking? Was it some sort of revenge on Milah? Was it to escape himself? Why was she bothering to ask why? He used her. Simple as that; as simply painful and violating as that. He made her lower her guard, her armor. He made her, for the first time in years, _hope_ for something new. He made her think they had some kind of inexplicable chemistry between them. Killian Jones had gotten to her. He bested her. Melted the ice around her already battered heart and left it to drown. She could feel it struggling to breathe right now.

That's what continued to go on for the next couple of hours. Everything came crashing down, triggering one tragedy in her life after the next. For the first time in years, Emma acknowledged the full weight she'd been carrying around on her shoulders—the abandonment, the abuse, neglect, hurt, rejection, loss, her parents, Killian—all of it. She felt so vulnerable, small and fragile; everything that she made sure she wasn't until this point, her breaking point.

To some extent it was freeing and validating to grieve over her lost childhood and loves, but it also scared her. It scared her so much that Emma ran passed a now awoken and confused Killian, away from that house and everything resurfacing in it.

When her feet hit the sand, she stumbled, but like a mad woman, crawled until she could catch her grip on the sand hill to run again. She couldn't afford to stop now. The voices and memories scratching and scraping through her mind were relentless and kept screaming at her. She ran as far, as fast, and as long as she could bear then fell to the ground completely spent.

Outstretched on the dark sand, she listened to the waves rolling in and out with the tide. She needed this, to just stare up at the limitless night sky and feel the cold chill on her skin underneath the starlight. Her eyes, so trained to focus and find danger, were given a rest, but her mind was still on overdrive. The questions came back again.

What was that son of a bitch playing at? Why her of all people? There were plenty of women in town, pretty ones, too, but he chose her. Then didn't. Then did again at his convenience when she had to walk home with her head dropped down in embarrassment.

That's what really hurt, the cherry on top of the trend of misery in her life. She had been embarrassed in front of him—first with the kiss; second with her date with Jefferson. God, she must've looked so pathetic. She definitely felt pathetic and couldn't even redeem herself because he'd stolen away every opportunity she had. She was _his_ mistake, _her parents'_ mistake, and even _Jefferson's_ mistake. There were so many others, too, that she just couldn't, with all the time in the world, begin to name.

Seriously. Was kissing her so horrible that it warranted being avoided for months? Was she _that_ unworthy? So many unpleasant memories and questions assaulted her mind, so she let her body go limp under the lonely pale light of the moon.

* * *

That moon was high above, lighting the trail of footsteps Emma had left behind. Killian flew down the stairs to the beach and followed them. He couldn't see her anywhere.

Killian was still just as confused as when he'd awoken to the sound of whimpers; whimpers that, knowing her, had somehow managed to escape through every attempt to smother them. He didn't know what was wrong, but assuming the worst, he was afraid something had happened to David Nolan—bad news that just hadn't reached him yet. He wanted her to not be alone in this all—to be alone at all, and for Emma, Killian willfully pushed Milah away.

He started running, his steps synchronizing with the ones printed in the sand, and in matching them, he could almost feel her panic and desperation to get away. He needed to find her. He had to make sure that she knew that she could count on him, that she could trust him, and that he would be a friend if nothing else. He just had to find her—

And he did.

Lying on the sand was Emma and the sight made every nerve in Killian's body flare up. Her skin was washed colorless in the pale light and from a distance one could even mistake her for being dead. She might as well have been because Emma felt chilled to the bone and emotionally numb, tired. Just very tired. She was almost asleep, the lull of the ocean whispering in her ears. That is, until she heard a voice, not too far away, shouting her name and breaking her trance.

"Emma!" Killian cried, running as fast as he could to her. He prayed she didn't do something stupid, he knew she was capable of a lot of things, but didn't know where she drew the line. When he saw her prop herself up, he slowed and felt a flash of relief cool his burning muscles.

"What are you doing here?" she asked flatly, a faraway look in her eyes. She slumped forward, her body tingling back to life. Life just kept jerking her around and she wasn't sure she had the strength to fight it. She was so tired of being strong all the time that when he fell to his knees and brought her into his embrace, she didn't protest.

"Are you okay?" he started to panic again, "What's wrong?"

"You," she replied, shocked at her own answer. That's when rage started to boil up inside of her; resentment; impatience; bitterness all surging power back into her body. "_You_ are what's wrong," her eyes narrowed. He talked so much about wanting the truth, well then she was going to give it to him.

"Me?" Killian let her go, a little hurt by her tone. He hadn't expected that.

"You yank me around," she began, opening a floodgate where her words just streamed out one after another. "You are too hard to keep up with. I can't believe you basically said _to my face_ that _I_ was a mistake—some drunken distraction. I'm not some toy that you can play with when you miss Milah!"

That particularly cut into Killian.

"I'm so tired of you freezing me out of your life then barging into mine!" Emma rose to her feet, "You won't let me in, but you demand and insist on weaseling your way into my life!" She closed her eyes, not being able to look at him when she continued, "Fine! I _care_ about you. But I don't want to if that means torturing myself."

_Months_ of pent up fury was being thrown at him, adding to his already heavy of guilt. It was _him_ that was causing her so much grief tonight. She had been crying because of him.

"You couldn't just leave me alone, you bastard!"

"You're right—" he tried to apologize, but was cut off before he could be heard.

"Damn right, I'm right. And I am _not_ done! Milah? You know, the woman you tried to get back at when _you_ kissed me? Yeah, she sounds like a monster. 'Black hole of a heart,' and those are _your_ words, Killian," pointing a finger at him, "_not_ _mine."_

Emma stepped closer to him, close enough that when he looked up to her eyes, he could almost see the green embers burning and growing stronger.

"So how come you can see how deep she has her claws in you when you're drunk off your ass, but sulk after her when you're sober? You don't make any sense! Why do you do this to yourself? _How_ can you do this to yourself? How can you do this to people like Graham?! Like me?!"

Killian was speechless, Emma had dropped multiple bombs on him and now he felt like he'd been hacked to shreds, cut down and told straight his greatest faults. He stared back in bewilderment, his eyes pleading up at her for mercy, but they both knew he had to hear it.

More importantly, he had to hear it from Emma.

"I—I—" he stammered, "I don't know what to say, Emma."

He honestly didn't. Leading her on, his ambivalence with Milah, and his own self-pity—everything was true. His mind was still trying to process everything she'd exposed. He was trying not to break while he clung on to the hope that she still 'cared' for him, but he still didn't have any answers for her.

He had finally decided to change, but now there was a new issue. He didn't know how.

"Of course you don't," she walked passed him. "Come find me when you figure it out." She gave the slightest turn of her head to see if he was following, but he wasn't.

Killian stayed there kneeling in the sand. This was it. This was the moment he had to commit himself to either the past or future—to Milah or Emma. He looked up again at the stars again, praying that they really would help him navigate this—reveal to him the right answer to his dilemma and how to go about it.

Even if he was one-hundred percent sure, how was he supposed to move forward when all he could see the past? He couldn't walk backwards into the future.

He laid down on the spot where he had found Emma. Sand coated his hair, but he didn't care, there was only one thing, one person, worth caring for and she expected an answer that was already formed on his lips, but couldn't escape. Graham was right once again;

_The Killian I know is a survivor, he fights for what he wants. You, you just wallow in your own tragedy and call it noble._

Killian wasn't fighting. He wasn't making any moves. He was doing the same thing he'd been doing the last five years—waiting. Waiting for what? For Milah to magically find him? To love him again? Waiting for the world to hand him his happiness? He couldn't expect anything new when he was constantly sabotaging everything good in his life—like Emma.

He had to fight for her. He had to win her back and was determined to make things right between them. He didn't exactly know how, but he knew she was slipping away from him and he wasn't going to let that happen. Killian wasn't going to let her go, not this time.

* * *

When Emma made it back to the house, her tears were completely spent and adrenaline gone. She splashed cold water on her salt-stained face. She felt a little empowered and strong again like she was back in control of her mind and body, but she was also forcing him to make a decision that she wasn't sure he could make. With that, she started preparing for the inevitable.

She grabbed a box and carelessly dropped her things in. It would take a while, but if she worked through the night, she could be ready to split as soon as tomorrow afternoon. The one picture frame on her desk comforted her—it was a picture that Ruby had taken of her, Mary Margaret, and David sitting in their usual spot at the diner. She could always stay with her parents in the meantime. They'd understand. Hell, they'd be thrilled to have their not-so little girl back home with them. Eventually though, she would have to come up with something else and even though New York was out of the question, Boston wasn't too far away. The city-life was so much more hectic which meant it was her best hope of forgetting about this whole mess.

Emma tucked the frame away in the box and moved to her desk, clearing out the drawers crammed with mostly paperwork and statements. She had a full corner of her room packed when she heard the door slam in the living room.

Killian was home.

She hopped over the obstacles in her room and tried to shut the door, but Killian snaked his hand in to stop it. She was stronger than he anticipated.

"Bloody hell that hurt," he gritted through his teeth. "I know you're mad at me, darling, but I'd prefer not to lose my hand, so open the door!" Giving her no other option—well, no limb-severing option—she let go of the door, letting it swing wide open, and turned her back to him. "What are you doing? Are you packing?!"

"Here's the thing. This, whatever this is, obviously isn't good for either of us." She kept her face hidden and removed a box from her bed.

"No, love—"

"I told you not to call me that. Stop thinking you have the right to call me any of your little pet names," she hissed back at him.

"Emma," he begged. "Listen to me." She stopped moving around, but still refused to look at him. "The last few months, all of this, has been my fault. I thought—I told myself that I was being selfless by sparing you the trouble, but, really, all I did was make you feel crazy. And, you're not crazy. There is something between us and it scared and still scares the hell out of me because I'm a coward." She didn't make any attempt to respond, so he begged her again, "Emma. Emma, look at me."

No. She couldn't look at him because then she'd be trapped by those eyes of his and who knows what would happen. She didn't trust herself and especially not him.

"Please, Emma. Please don't leave," then in a voice much quieter he breathed out, "Please don't leave me."

The gentleness in his voice made her want to forgive him, to stop him from suffering, but then upon realizing this, her anger started to bubble up again. God, how did he keep doing that to her? Where the hell had her dignity disappeared to? She was about to tell him that she was done waiting around for something that _might_ be real, something that _might_ happen. She was going to tell him that she was done playing this sick little game of his.

But he spun her around before she had the chance and kissed her even more intensely than he had the night he lost himself in her green eyes, the night he realized just how much he liked being around her. He poured everything he had into that kiss. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he deepened it and wrapped his arm around her—pulling her into him, trying to keep her as close to him as possible; his beloved ray of light.

He was terrified of her fading away, of leaving, and she could feel it.

She could feel it all and when Emma pulled away, she finally met his eyes. Hurt, fear, longing, need, and hope reflected between them, mirrored between green and blue.

"Don't. Don't do this to me—" She was interrupted by his lips once again and held her even tighter than before. They molded so perfectly with each other like it was the most natural thing in the world, like they fit; broken bits and all.

"I promise," he whispered against her lips, "I promise this is real." She was still scared, panicking over the swell of emotions brewing inside of her. He could see the watery loneliness in her eyes, she was completely bare before him.

"Stop," she whimpered and ripped her head away from him, trying to push him away, but he refused to let her budge. He was fighting to keep her here in his arms and in his life.

"I'm not lying. You of all people would know if I was lying—look at me, Emma. Please look at me." She stopped struggling and her eyes, practically spilling over with the fear sloshing around in her, flickered up to his. She saw blue eyes. Terrifyingly honest blue eyes.

"You're going to break me and I'm already messed up as it is," was all she replied.

Killian remembered lying on the grass staring up at night sky the first night he'd met her. He had concluded then that a woman like Emma Swan didn't allow her heart to be broken. She broke others' before hers could be.

She had granted him the slightest opening and he ruined it.

"Don't you ever say that," he let her go just enough so that she had a clear view of him, "I swear to you, I will never hurt you. Never again."

She explored every brilliant facet in his eyes before closing her own, her fluttering heart beginning to slow. Releasing a shaky breath she didn't know she'd been holding, she let herself fold into him. Taking it as an invitation, Killian brushed his lips against hers, giving her the gentlest of kisses and waited for her to reply.

She answered him by wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. Then as if making up for lost time, their movements became more fervent with desire and need while all the tension and build up from the last few months came crashing down. The time for gentle kisses was gone, but when he had her pressed back against her bedroom wall, Killian broke away.

"I need you to know that what happened," he said between kisses, "wasn't a mistake."

"But you said—"

"I lied," he breathed out before claiming her lips again, moving fiercely against hers. He needed her to understand, to feel how much he wanted her here with him.

"Me, too. I lied first," she forced out, almost too distracted by the wet open-mouthed kisses he was laying along her jaw, down her neck. "I should've said something." He stopped. His face still rested in the crook of her neck as he realized how much he hated himself for convincing her that she had any fault in this. He pulled back and lowered his eyes—too ashamed to look at her anymore.

"I didn't let you say anything. I didn't want to give you the choice."

Emma took his face and brought his gaze back to hers before giving him a slow, tender kiss. He wasn't off the hook and she still had her reservations, but her kiss said that they would work it out—her kiss was about understanding.

Emma and Killian were far from their happily ever after, if he even deserved one at all. Emma still wasn't ready to trust him completely, but Killian knew that. He didn't expect her to be, not yet. He still had a lot of making up to do.

"Does this mean I'm allowed to call you 'love' again?" Emma rolled her eyes, unable to erase her smile.

"Of all the things to ask me, that's your primary concern?"

"If you say no, I can always stick with 'beautiful.' I don't mind," then his face grew serious. He gave her a thoughtful look and said, "Let's agree not to lie to each other again, love."

"We did that once. It didn't work out."

"Trust me when I say that the pathetic fellow who made that deal last time isn't the man pinning you against the wall right now," he smirked and she rolled her eyes.

"You're still too much, but yeah. You're right—there's something... different about you, I just can't figure out what."

"I'm not looking backwards anymore," he smiled, "I actually plan on chasing you forever if I have to." Emma shifted uncomfortably at the 'forever' part, even if it was just in jest.

"Killian. You need to understand that I need some time before—"

"Before you can trust me again, I know, and I'm willing to fight dragons and giants for it. It'd be my pleasure."

She knew he was telling the truth, but she still felt her heart clench when Milah flitted through her mind. She hugged him, just a nice, sweet hug. Did he really care about her enough to break away from Milah's grip? When he hugged her back, both feeling so secure with each other, she knew that it was definitely worth a shot.

Tonight was about trying to make things right and she wasn't going to let Killian stray from her side. She needed to know for sure that what he felt for her was real. She needed to know that this could work, that it was possible.

They walked to the living room and she sat down while he started another fire—this was becoming a tradition, their tradition—but he still surprised her when he wrapped a blanket around them and pulled her snug against his chest. It was so sweet and intimate that it took her a second to remind herself that this was okay; that there was nothing to be worried about. After a moment, she nestled up against him while he held her protectively.

Tonight, Killian wouldn't let Emma stray from his side either.

* * *

_**Review?**_


	11. First Date

**Chapter 11: First Date**

It was dawn and the morning was cold. Killian didn't know where he was until he felt Emma sleeping soundly against him, her hand curled into his t-shirt. It wasn't another dream. Last night, the two of them watched the fire die down and revealed secrets they'd withheld since the first time they kissed. His mind was quiet and all of his attention was focused on this moment—not in the past, just here and now.

Killian gathered Emma her in his arms—afraid that she might somehow disappear—and left trails of kisses against the smoothness of her skin, pressed into her hair, and then at last resting on her lips. He did this on and off for hours just to assure himself that this was real. It was very real, so real that Emma still felt hesitant to open herself up and let him in. She knew she wanted this, but she was also afraid to want it. It was just in her nature and how her life had shaped her character to be, but she challenged herself to push those concerns away so she could experience this new side of Killian—this side that was fearlessly affectionate, warm, and so ridiculously more flirtatious that she had given up rolling her eyes at every smart remark and shameless innuendo. She couldn't have felt more alive—happy and scared all at the same time—but, best of all, she was proud of herself for not running.

Emma was exhausted though and as her eyes started to grow heavy with much needed sleep, Killian whispered honeyed words of how amazing a person she was. She woke something up in him, something that had been locked up and forgotten. He melted the ice around her heart and she freed his.

Now, he tucked away strands of hair covering her face and tried to memorize how innocent and untroubled she looked. She was breathtaking, free from the weight of the world, and Killian made a silent promise to do everything he could to keep her this way. The woman in his arms had lived through so much, gone to hell and back, and he didn't want her to have to worry anymore.

To do this though, he had to be a better man, a better Killian, and with this thought, the euphoria of waking started to pass. He watched the shadows cast above on the ceiling as he let his mind wander. He had done a fantastic job of dismissing Milah from his mind last night, but he'd be a liar if he said he was completely free of her.

He could still remember just how beautiful she had looked twirling in the sand to the sound of guitars singing in the night. She was enchanting, a whirl of scarves and sun-kissed skin. Then he began to remember the day Emma redecorated the house. Even in all his agitation, he still noted how lovely she was when entering the room and how her shirt brought out the flecks of blue in her jade eyes.

And this was how it went. Killian would begin thinking about Milah then end up transitioning to Emma. He just wasn't fully there yet and felt guilty for harboring both women in his head, but hopefully he'd be able to let go soon. He was trying and still had a long way to go with Emma. Earning her trust first was the only way to make their relationship work.

'_Is it a relationship?' _ His face looked pained when he started to recall having that very conversation with Milah. She just laughed at the notion—dismissing his 'childish labels.' Panic rose to his chest. He and Emma hadn't discussed it yet, but surely they were in one now. They'd been playing this cat and mouse game for months and there was too much between them to be in anything less than a proper relationship... Right?

'_What if that's not what she wants?'_ Milah didn't want to get too serious at first. Were he and Emma getting too serious too soon? Too intimate? Smothering?

'_What if I'm not doing enough?'_ He already delayed them for so long, but Milah never cared for him being so attentive though; she'd rather them be individuals than a pair. _'Does Emma want to be a pair?'_

God, he sounded like a teenager. He wasn't sure what to do though, he couldn't know for certain what Emma was thinking. How could he? After all, he didn't know what Milah ever thought.

What if Milah didn't know the real him? Or, couldn't see the person he _could_ be? Was it possible that all she knew was the sad and lost young man desperate to escape and adventure instead? What would Milah think of the person he had become now? Would she want him now?

Emma stirred and let out a sleepy sigh before cuddling into to him until she was comfortable again. Killian snapped out of his head and he held her closer to him, burying his face in her silky hair. It didn't matter if Milah would accept him now. She didn't matter anymore; Emma did—simple as that.

There were so questions to answer and so much to do, but he gave himself a break and did the only thing he needed to do right now which was to enjoy this moment.

Emma let out a long sleepy yawn and opened her eyes to find Killian watching her, clearly entertained.

"Creep."

"I'm appalled. You use my body as your own personal pillow then insult me?" he scoffed.

She ignored him and nuzzled her head back into the curve of his neck, blindly trailing her hand across his chest, up along his stubble, then finally smoothing through and entwining her fingers in his dark hair.

"I'll do anything you say as long as you keep that up," he sighed as she tugged at the tufts of soft hair. This was definitely how he wanted to spend his mornings from now on.

"I say that we get up in fifteen minutes and get ready to go."

"Where are we going?"

"You've got some making up to do, remember?" she smiled.

"God that's great," he murmured distractedly while adorably leaning into her hand, refusing to let it go. "Why fifteen minutes?"

"Duh. Because I don't want to get up yet."

"No complaints here, darling," he turned away from her hand and whispered in her ear, "I'm quite enamored by the thought of your body pressed up against me anyway."

"Creep," she repeated, trying to hide her smile. Emma could definitely spend every morning like this, too.

Emma and Killian were on the highway heading towards a place that she was intent on keeping a mystery. He didn't care for surprises, unless he was the one doing the surprising, and not knowing where and how long their trip would take was killing him.

"Where are we going exactly?" Killian asked again from the passenger seat. "We've been driving for hours."

"An hour is not _hours_, drama queen, and just to get you to shut up, I will tell you that you'll like it." He raised an eyebrow. "It's your type of thing. I haven't gone myself, but my parents say it's nice."

"If you've never been there yourself, then how do you know we're not lost?" he whined at a now glaring Emma.

"Because I have an excellent sense of direction, thank you very much."

"Oh, does this excellent sense of direction include staying in the lane that takes us back north from where we came from?"

She violently jerked the car out of the lane at the last possible second.

"Damn it, woman!" Killian yelled, bracing for dear life while Emma batted her eyelashes at him.

"Sorry," she apologized with a voice much daintier than normal and inspired Killian to take on a new approach. Two could play at that game.

After a good ten minutes later, he leaned over and captured her free hand. She smiled when she felt his lips sweetly brush over the back of it and sighed at how affectionate he could be. Half way up her arm, his feather light kisses grew rougher, lazily taking their time. Surprised, she glanced over and saw that he had his blue eyes seductively locked on her, darkening more and more with each flick of his tongue.

'_Road, Emma. You are driving. A crucial part of driving is actually looking at the road.'_

His lips burned into her, hungrily inching up her body.

"Killian."

"Hm?" He seized the strap of her shirt with his teeth and sharply dragged it out of the way, continuing his sizzling path over her bare shoulder.

"What are you doing?" His hot breath tickled her neck.

"I'm bored." She put both hands on the wheel while his warm mouth began to roll along the curve of her neck.

"Do you want us to crash?" her voice was throaty and she tightened her grip on the wheel when his teeth daringly scraped against her skin.

"I want us to do other things," he growled low in his throat and nipped at her earlobe, "I hope where we're going can accommodate that."

Her skin was on fire and his stubborn mouth seemed to be finding every sweet spot. She so badly wanted to just surrender to the feeling of his lips shooting shocks and shivers through her body, to the sound of his wet mouth sucking and nibbling on her neck.

"Love," kissing that sweet spot behind her ear that nearly made her close her eyes, "Where are we going?"

Little shit. She immediately broke from his spell. Yes, it felt good—great—fantastic—goddamn he was good with his mouth—but he was a real idiot to think that would actually work with her.

She splayed her hand over his chest and pushed him back into his seat, letting out a deep breath.

"You're not finding out that way, buddy," she laughed, still trying to even out her breaths.

"Fine," Killian grunted sourly; she chuckled, he sounded like a kid refused ice cream. For the next fifteen minutes or so, he tried various ways to get her to tell. Most of them were annoying like constantly sighing loudly or trying to drown her patience with a steam of the repeated question. Eventually, he gave up and resorted to just taking a nap to help pass the time.

Another hour ticked by and Killian stared out the window watching the passing trees and towns. He had long given up trying to figure out where they were going and picked up where his mind had left off this morning.

Being on the road with Emma was so different than running away with Milah. With Milah, it was always so uncertain, sometimes dangerous, and at times lonely. She would entertain his hand-holding for only so long before she'd let go of him to chat up one of the other travelers trekking with them—leaving him to watch and wait for her return in the background. Then there was Emma who constantly looked over to him and checked up on how he was doing.

Damn it. He was doing it again—comparing the two. Though Emma was winning the competition, he shouldn't have made it a game in his head in the first place. He snapped back to the real world with the sound of Emma's singing and studied her in light of his newest revelation.

"What? I like this song," she defended, "Don't laugh at me."

"I wasn't laughing. You have a beautiful voice." He was still a little subdued. She stole a look, but it was harder to read him. After a few more peeks, she finally concluded that he was either being too hard on himself again, thinking about Milah, or both.

"You okay?" Emma intertwined their hands, hoping that it would help bring him out of whatever was keeping him so deep in thought then mock threatened, "And don't you dare start up again or I will purposely take the scenic route just to torture you."

Even though the idea of this blind, agonizingly long car ride becoming even worse made him cringe, he appreciated her help and could feel the weight beginning to lift off his chest so he could breathe again.

Killian laughed quietly and stared down at their hands. She didn't let it go and, remarkably, he knew that she wasn't planning to. He actually knew because he could read her and better yet, she wanted him to. She was trying to put herself out there and to not shrink away every time she started to feel too close to him. Grinning like an idiot—an idiot maybe falling in love—his hope returned and he started to laugh to himself.

"What?" the smile was contagious and she found herself unable to control it, too. "What's so damn funny?" He breathed deeply in and exhaled all his self-sabotaging thoughts.

"You're just one hell of a woman, Emma, and I just realized how lucky I am… despite the dangerous circumstances of your driving." She shot him glare.

He was though. He found someone to finally hold his hand and it couldn't have felt better. Scratch that, if they were done with this road trip into the unknown _and_ doing this, it would probably feel best. "And we're here," Emma said tiredly, parking and letting her stained eyes relax for a minute.

"'_Pemaquid Lighthouse Park.' _We're going to go see a lighthouse? We drove almost three hours to a lighthouse. Don't we have one of those back home?"

"Shut it. This place is supposed to be, you know, beautiful. Besides, we can actually go up in this one." Killian looked bored and unimpressed. "There's the beach and hiking and… and canoeing!"

That piqued his interest; anything involving boats was good in his book.

"See," she rolled her eyes, "I knew you'd like that one. I just thought it'd be nice to get out of Storybrooke for a day, so come on, let's roll."

They soaked in the warm sun and walked up the winding trail, taking pictures in front of all the blooming flowers, the aging red Bell House, and then the coastline. Deciding to save the lighthouse for last, they made their way inside the historical school house. It definitely looked ancient.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Emma studied the ceiling worried that it might cave in on them.

"I can't believe it's survived this long," Killian looked at the desk, "Is this an actual textbook from—"

A woman in period costume approached them and answered, "From my students, yes. If you're here for the exam like the others," they spotted an excited group near the front of the class, "then I suggest you line up." It was obvious that this woman really loved her job and she was great at it, too, but tests and Emma? They mixed like water and oil.

"Thank you very much," Emma declined politely, a little self conscious about her speech as she talked to the stern woman dressed like a ghost, "but we can't stay."

"Very well then, off you go!" she ushered them toward the exit, then turned on her heel and glided back into the single-roomed school with impeccable posture that even Emma straightened out her shoulders.

"Skipping school, Miss Swan? Tsk, tsk."

"Whatever, you're just as guilty as I am." She pulled him out the door by his shirt.

"Well then, I suppose you should punish me. I've been a very, very bad boy."

She punched his shoulder. He was so shameless—she hid the little curl forming on her lips—but she never said she hated.

He took her arm in his and they strolled down to the docks. The bay was calmer here at Moxie's cove. Trees hung over the water's edge while a medley of colored sails and kayaks swam about. Killian stepped into their little white canoe and reached for Emma like a proper gentleman. He also insisted on rowing them around the cove, so she sat across from him smiling at his concentration and focus. Boys and their toys.

"You're right, Emma," Killian stopped them in a spot shaded from the high sun. "This was a fantastic idea. Though I wonder how this is me making it up to you since it was _your_ idea and _you_ brought us here."

"It's so peaceful here," she brushed off his sentiments and let her eyes wander across the mirrored waters and watched blue and green damselflies skimming across its surface. She was from the city and it felt surreal sitting on a boat in the middle of such a beautifully untouched place. Everything here was uncluttered, quiet, and still. Emma started to understand why David liked the outdoors so much.

"Yeah, gorgeous." His eyes never once left Emma's awestruck face. Feeling his stare, she looked over at him and her breath hitched, he was doing it again—staring at her so enraptured, so mesmerized that her instincts warned her to flee.

"Scoot," and with careful maneuvering, she squeezed herself next to him and leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder. Take that instincts. Still, her mind burned with that same question she'd asked herself yesterday and after a few quiet moments, she gave in. "Are you, um… Do you still think about her?"

Killian was shaken out of his reverie and regretfully remembered all the 'thinking' he'd done since this morning. His face fell in shame, but he answered truthfully, "Not like before, it's different now."

Emma pushed down those stubborn walls of hers and pulled at his waist, nestling back into him. It was a sore subject for the both of them. How could it not be? She understood his struggle which is why she appreciated his answer even more. Killian was honest with Emma, even if it meant admitting things that he didn't want to admit to himself. What they had wasn't flawless, but it was perfect in that they were both trying so hard to make it work, to be better for each other.

At sunset, the couple made their way to the lighthouse. At the top of the spiraling staircase, they could see how endless the sea really was. It stretched into the horizon with a flurry of white sails cutting across its waters.

"Come on, let's take a picture." Emma leaned in close to Killian and after the shutter noise went off, she gave him a smack on the arm. "Hey!" He pretended to be wounded. "I mean it. Let's take a real one, okay?"

"Okay." They leaned back in and this time they both smiled at the camera.

"See? You look so good when you're not acting like a five year old." Killian let her jab at his ego slide and took the camera then positioned it again.

"One more, darling," he said lowly and leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"Killian—"

"Humor me." Afterwards he gave her back the camera and she stared at the picture. You could see her downplaying it, but her eyes and her very subtle blush showed just how stunned she was. She was still stunned, so she cleared her throat and teased him.

"I never took you for a sap, Mister Jones."

"Never doubt my want to kiss a beautiful woman." She raised an eyebrow at him and he began, "It—"

"I only teasing, _handsome_," she tested, imitating his charm.

"Hm… I like it when you try on my speech," he snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her close, "It's such a turn on,"

"_Lad_," he laughed and kissed her, "Sweetheart," he raised an eyebrow then kissed her again. For someone who acted unfazed all the time, she'd compiled quite the list. "_Love,_" he stared at her in trepidation. He hadn't heard a woman call him that since, well—his mind quickly jumped to Milah and hating himself for it, he tried to repair the moment before Emma would notice.

"Don't forget _darling_," he forced a smirk.

"Oh no. Definitely can't forget _darling_," she purred and placed her arms around his neck. She leaned in to catch his lips, but instead she caught something else—the slightest hint of panic behind his eyes.

"What did I say?" she asked directly; she triggered something in him.

"What?" He didn't have any time to really respond before she threw another question at him.

"I said something she used to call you, didn't I?"

"What are you, a bloody psychic?"

She released him from her grasp and slowly paced back to the ocean side of the lighthouse, shifting her attention back to the billowing sails of the larger ships.

"I'm sorry. I just—it's not something I can control—" he begged out of frustration at himself. Emma stared into his eyes until the last of the tourists descended the spiral staircase and left them alone.

As soon as they were out of sight, she grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and kissed him hard, moving him back against the glass while he was still processing what was happening. Her kisses were desirous and wild; passion flowing freely without any restraints, without any walls to go through. He finally gathered enough sense to return it, soon matching her untamed pace, and when he gave the slightest move away, she refused and raked her fingers through his hair to hold his mouth on hers. If they didn't break soon, one of them was going to end up passed out, so eventually Emma conceded and pulled away, trying to catch her breath while she untangled her hand from his hair. Killian stayed leaning against the window, his hair standing messily and obviously still in a daze.

"What—what was that for?"

"For trying," she let out a breathy laugh, still panting.

Emma never had someone go through so much trouble to make her happy; to try to prove his worth to her like she was someone important or special.

Meanwhile, Killian was still shocked. He brought up his ex twice on their first date and she only cuddled up to him then next near killed him with kisses—all because he was trying. He'd never felt so alive.

"You know," he spoke with wide innocent eyes which, Emma had learned by now, only meant his thoughts were far from innocent, "I've been trying _awfully_ hard lately, maybe we should reward my efforts right now on the lighthouse floor." He lunged for her.

"Killian!" His remark and their laughs echoed through the lighthouse and reached a family of four standing at the base of the staircase. While Killian chased Emma around the top, the horrified parents ushered their children back out.

They spent the rest of the day on the beach, making new and happier memories on the sand. Killian drove back home, occasionally indulging in Emma's wishes to sing with her until she fell asleep, counting the flashing lights on the highway like counting sheep. He was left alone with his thoughts again and the doubtful whispers came back.

This time, however, he had an arsenal of Emma-moments to combat them.

_**Leave a comment below, **_**darlings**_** - Thanks!**_


	12. Momentum

**A/N: How does that saying go? All good things must come to an end..? Hmm. Happy reading :D**

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**Chapter 12: Momentum**

"We're home," Killian gently shook Emma awake. She was still strapped in and drooling just a little bit, but when Emma's senses returned, she cursed and wiped her face in embarrassment.

"Oh god!" She covered her face, "That was attractive," then reached to release her seat belt. Killian stopped her from leaving the car and leaned in.

"You're always attractive," he smiled and gave her a quick peck.

They took their time walking up the cobblestone path, both enjoying the starlight above and the way the almost full moon cast a blue light.

Killian was so enamored by Emma and the peace of mind she gave him. He could feel himself becoming addicted to her presence. Emma could feel it, too; she noticed the way he looked at her like she was the only person on earth; she felt the intensity of his gaze. The nagging thought in the back of her mind told her to be wary, to keep some of her guard up.

She sighed at the thought. One day she would be able to love freely, to never doubt the authenticity of someone else's feelings—of Killian's feelings—but it was still too early to tell. Or was it? Was she just being paranoid? She was the happiest she'd ever been with someone and, in all honesty, she'd never been this emotionally invested either.

Planning the breakup ahead of time was Emma's specialty.

Everything between them was novel and new which she was no fool to. She understood how new couples worked and the initial romanticism of shared love and experiences. She was well aware, but too engrossed by the feeling of his lips on her neck as he encircled her waist from behind.

'_I'll be smart later_,' she thought.

Bringing them further into the living room then twirling around in his arms to face him, she was met with a searing kiss. Any tiredness that the two had in the car was abandoned along with their coats and scarves. Emma tangled her hands in Killian's hair, biting down on is lip hard as he unzipped his sweater. He let out the slightest moan, tossed the sweater to the side, and picked Emma up, claiming her lips again.

Lowering her on the couch, his body hovered over hers while their fervent kisses relentlessly went on. It was a Sunday night and they both had work in the morning, but at the moment they didn't care about anything other than the feeling of their overlapping lips. His hand roamed down Emma's hip as hers slid up the back of his shirt, tugging him down closer to her.

She almost succeeded when his propped arm almost slipped off the cushion, "Watch it, love; don't want to break you."

The moment was hot and passionate, full of want and desire, and Emma couldn't help herself; she pulled him down against her again, letting out a breathy, "I'd like to see you try."

She attacked his lips with a rough kiss as he fully pressed his body against hers—all reservations gone.

_Buzz buzz buzz_.

She paused for a second, debating whether or not to silence her phone, but it stopped and she returned back to her panting Killian. Finally devoid of distraction, she focused all her attention on Killian's neck, sucking and biting at any spot she could find.

_Buzz buzz buzz._

"Damnit!" She murmured against his neck and reached for her discarded jacket on the floor. Taking out the phone she answered murderously, "Sheriff Swan," still hot and bothered, but mostly bothered.

"Hey kiddo! Just wanted to see if you and, uh—yeah! How was the lighthouse?" David's cheery voice rang from the phone. Killian laughed silently at how reluctant David was to acknowledge him; let alone him as Emma's potential boyfriend.

"Oh. It was great. Thank mom for the idea. Alrighty, well I'm kind of tired—"

"So, it went well then? Your, um, _outing?_" Killian took the opportunity to nuzzle into her neck, biting down gently and rolling his tongue over her skin.

Emma gasped and smacked his shoulder; Killian looked up wide-eyed and beamed at her while she mouthed, 'NO.' He just smiled, eyes filled with mischief, and continued sucking at the spot on her collarbone, now just trying to give her a hickie which she fought by jerking her head away. He let out a small laugh.

"Emma, are you alright?" David's confused voice rang out.

"Oh I'm—I'm fine, dad. Sorry what did you say?"

"I asked how everything went," David said, his voice starting to falter as worst case scenarios started to form in his mind.

"Oh everything was great. Yeah, went canoeing."

"I've always wanted to try that down there," he deflected, "It looks like a blast and—"

"Dad," she faked a yawn, "I'm sorry, but I'm just super tired and I have to be up in the morning."

"Oh of course, I'm sorry, honey! I mean, _Sheriff Swan_, I'll try to pop on by tomorrow, okay? Goodnight!"

"Night, dad," she pressed the end call button for added measure.

Killian started laughing into her neck, raising his head so he could meet her displeased stare. "What?"

"Don't _what_ me. You know what you did and I better not have a hickie, my dad's coming into work tomorrow."

"Wear a turtle neck, he kissed the reddened spot. You can always return the favor; I have no problem wearing it with pride."

"I bet you don't," she tried to keep a straight face. He looked so happy—how could she be mad?

Truth was that she wasn't mad at him, if anything she was mad at her dad for interrupting with his roundabout questions about her date, but all things happen for a reason and maybe it was good that they had been interrupted. Who knew what would happen next? Actually, no, Killian and Emma both knew where that was going.

Killian was the first to break the silence,

"Not that this wasn't amazing because it absolutely was, but in all seriousness, you do need to get some sleep."

"You, too," she said with a quiet voice.

They stayed there, Killian hovering over her, Emma lying beneath him, both waiting for someone to break first.

"I should—," they said at the same time.

"Yeah, you—," they said again in unison then smiled.

Killian got up off Emma and held out his hand. They walked to the hallway, their hands still linked, and hugged; giving each other a quick, 'Good night,' then parted and shut the doors to their rooms behind them.

After a few seconds, both doors flew open and they ran back and grasped each other; kissing deeply and as passionately as the moment before.

"You know, the house gets awfully cold at night," Emma proposed. "We could help keep each other warm."

"I suppose I can't refuse a lady in need, but I must warn you now—," he said warningly, "no funny business, Miss Swan. We _really_ need to get some sleep tonight or else we'll both be useless tomorrow."

"Alright, I guess so," she gave him a quick kiss before letting him go get ready. She ran to her room, quickly combed her hair, brushed her teeth, dressed, and hopped in bed waiting for Killian's footsteps to sound down the hall.

He walked in, flashed her a smile, and turned off the light. Feeling his way through the darkness, he felt arms pull him down onto the mattress. They snuggled up against each other under her puffy comforter. "How do you sleep with this thing? It's so heavy."

"I don't know; I like the weight of it."

"Well let's get you a new one, you have me now."

She whispered, 'Good night,' and he did the same. He pulled her tightly to him and, through much restraint on both Emma and Killian's parts, no_ funny business _occurred and they fell asleep to the sound of each other's breathing.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::

Killian was the first awake; he silenced his alarm in panic of waking Emma up, but she remained soundly asleep. He sat there, his legs over the side of the bed and looked back at Emma. He couldn't believe that this was the second time he had woken up by her side. He cherished the moment and, like the morning before, smoothed her tresses of golden hair out of her face. He bent forward, giving her a soft kiss on her forehead, and tiptoed out of her room to get ready for work.

Emma awoke alone as she knew she would, he started a lot earlier than she did, but still, she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. She grabbed her clothes and started the shower. The hot water rolled off her skin and soothed the cold morning from her.

They were good together, she could feel it, and she wouldn't deny that; however, she felt that nagging instinct again. It was telling her not to lose her head, that there was something unseen in action, but she couldn't pinpoint what. As she towel dried her hair, she went to the living room to search for her jacket which was nicely folded on the edge of the couch with a note from Killian wishing her a wonderful day at work and that he would see her afterwards.

The note was enough to shut her instincts up for the meantime while she worked through the uneventful day—playing a marathon of Solitare when all her paperwork was done—and entertained her father during lunch. During which, David did his best not to pry into Emma's date with Killian and Emma did her best to evade any gateway conversational pieces.

After work, she took the long way home to stop by her parents' home. She could avoid her father all she wanted, but to keep secrets from her mother? Yeah, that wasn't going to happen.

Mary Margaret seemed to be ready for Emma's arrival, fresh baked peach pie cooling on the counter because she just never really took to apples. That's when the questions started flooding in,

"So," Mary Margaret drew out with a Cheshire Cat grin, "how did it go?"

"It was great; thank you, by the way, for recommending the place. It was beautiful."

"Is he your boyfriend now?" ignoring her daughter's comments about the scenery. "Can we call him your boyfriend now?"

"Mom," was all Emma said. She hadn't been in the house more than five minutes before being bombarded.

"So, did you two kiss?" Mary Margaret pressed.

"Mom," Emma warned again, taking another spoonful of ice cream and pie. She wasn't going to indulge her _that_ much, but something told her that Mary Margaret knew the answers before she even had to say anything.

"I'm just curious, it's not every day the mysterious Killian Jones," she teased, "professes his undying love to my daughter!"

"Mom! He did not say that he loved—that's not the point. We had a wonderful time. Just getting the chance to escape from everything and all. It's just that…" Emma trailed off.

"Just what?" her mother crinkled her brow in concern.

"I'm just worried that the Killian I know _now_ is battling to replace the Killian I knew only a few weeks ago."

"Well, sweetie, love does strange things to us. It makes us transform—sometimes for the worst and sometimes for the better. The real issue is making sure your past and future don't collide because then it's just a big mess," she waved her hands, "a mess of trust issues."

"Exactly, I mean, how can I be sure he's over his ex?"

Mary Margaret was silent in trying to plan her words until she answered, "You just have to have faith that he's figuring out a way to make sure his past doesn't collide with what he has with you. But," she raised a finger, "that only applies if you trust him and think he's worth the effort," her motherly instincts kicking back in.

"I do," Emma said immediately, but in the back of her mind, there was still a small flicker of doubt. She blamed it on how early it was in their relationship. They still had bugs to work out and needed time to get to know each other. "I do," Emma repeated, mostly for her own benefit.

On the walk home, Emma let out a long sigh. She wanted to trust Killian, to trust that what they had could overcome everything because he _was_ worth the effort, but she just couldn't shake the feeling that there was something too perfect, too convenient about the whole arrangement. She wondered if this was a temporary fix to a bigger problem. Milah, she concluded, was like a drug and Killian, an addict. Was she really enough motivation to make him quit Milah?

She pushed the thoughts back into that small dark crevice in her mind and imagined locking the doubts away as she approached the last house on the street. She was doing it again—analyzing and being critical, but she had to hold up her end of the bargain which was giving this all a chance. She was new at it—at trusting—but that was her problem and only she could fix it.

Inside the house, a mouth-watering smell wafted around her. Killian was whistling over the stove, a kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder just to be extra adorable. Emma leaned against the wall just watching him stir in all his enthusiasm. She hadn't remembered what it was like to have him in the kitchen again, to see him home so early, and so chipper and energized. He was like a new person—or maybe a freed person.

He stopped whistling and glanced over his shoulder at the feeling of being watched,

"Hey! Surprised to see you home so soon," he turned off the burner and wiped his hands with the towel while giving her a quick kiss. "I had expected your mother to keep you longer—asking questions about our little rendezvous, no doubt."

"No doubt," Emma smiled. "_Yup, Emma, no doubt_."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The couple's laughter rang throughout the house.

"I still can't believe," she shoved him with her shoulder, "what you did when _my dad_ called."

"I felt like you had forgotten me, so I made sure that you remembered me again," he said with a pout.

This was them, their tradition; sitting on their couch in front of their fireplace.

"I need to get a bigger bed," Killian said absentmindedly.

"Why?"

"Well, you've seen it. It's not exactly fit to accommodate more than one person, and we can't stay in your room all the time."

"_We?"_ She poked at his sides, _"We?_ Did I hear that correctly, Jones?" She didn't let off the tickling as he tried to squirm out of her reach. She backed off the tickling and wrapped her arms around his neck. He stared in her jade green eyes,

"Yes you did, _Swan_. I have no shame."

"Well, I'm sure as hell not sleeping without you. I've got you trapped, you see," tugging her arms around him, "and I'm not letting you go."

"I'd despair if you did," all the while smirking at her with that signature confidence of his, but also with something that Emma was still getting used to—the spark in his eyes as he stared at her.

"Then I think it's time we call it quits for the night," Emma suggested.

"Whatever the lady wants," he smirked.

It was almost eleven at night and Emma couldn't sleep. The question burned in her mind ever since Mary Margaret had asked it. What were they? She knew it was childish to fuss over labels, but she wanted to know where they stood. Was she something serious like he claimed? They talked about the future all the time and always with them together in it, but was that all just talk and wishful thinking?

"Emma, what's on your mind," Killian mumbled sleepily.

"Nothing really."

"Emma," he said tiredly into her hair, "Omitting is just a nicer way of saying 'lying.'"

She turned around to face him, the blue light streaming through her curtains and hitting the perfect contours of his face. His eyes fluttered open; they didn't need the light to make them just as intensely blue.

How could she phrase this without sounding so needy? She'd never once asked this before in her old relationships, if you could call them that. She usually didn't care before though. Well, she cared—she wasn't totally heartless—but because she always knew somehow that it wasn't going to last, why put a label on something that was going to expire soon? She hoped her and Killian weren't going to expire.

"What are we? Exactly…"

"We are Killian and Emma. We are people who should be sleeping. What's this about?" his voice still husky from sleep.

"I mean it," she risked, "Are we, you know, or… you know," she said embarrassed by her incoherency.

"'You know' what? Dating? Yes we are dating. I _like_ to think of you as my girlfriend, though I you're way more than that to me, love."

"So we are?"

"Yes, dearest Emma. With your gracious permission, will you please be my girlfriend?" He said mockingly, but the waver in his voice gave his nervousness away. Killian was wide awake now. He hoped that he didn't just rush it again.

"Thank you," was all Emma said. She just stared at him, the pressure built up in her chest gone.

"No problem," he tried to slow his heartbeat. "Now, Emma—my girlfriend—shall we get some sleep?"

"That sounds good, Killian—my boy toy," she poked.

"Oh, I see how it is. First you wrangle me into confessing, then reduce me to _boy toy_. I'm hurt."

"You'll get over it."

They kissed and nestled together to go to sleep, his arm hugging her close and her hand laced in his.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Things remained this way for the next few days, then weeks, then month after their first real date. Emma and Killian both explored new facets of each other and themselves. Killian seemed to forget more and more about Milah with each new moment he shared with Emma. In his eyes, Emma was more than just his girlfriend; she was a divine light that burned up the fog keeping him lost at sea; his warm angel during the cold dark nights.

He could see it now, navigating through any obstacle with Emma as his North Star; the future seemed obtainable and within his grasp. He felt like he had made so many great strides forward that his momentum was unstoppable; that love had truly conquered everything.

Emma had no doubts about Killian's intentions. She felt strange _without_ a smile on her face.. She'd taken to getting up in the morning at the ridiculously early time Killian awoke just so she could wish him a wonderful day—among _other_ things they had found to occupy their time.

Everything, you could say, was blissfully perfect; yet still, there was the smallest part of Emma that always wondered where the Milah in his mind had run off to. She was afraid that Milah was merely hiding in there, enduring the onslaught of beautiful memories the couple made. There was still the sliver of unease that she still couldn't quite put her finger on, but this small fragment—probably of her own insecurity and imagination—wasn't enough to ruin all that they had going.

What they had was breath-taking and beautiful. What they had was the makings of a fairy tale—

"Sheriff Graham," Graham's voice rang in the silent room at the station, snapping Emma out of her reflections. She went back to the paperwork on her desk, taking a long swig of her coffee to help prepare her for the redundancy, but she felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise. Something seemed wrong and Graham's extended silence only confirmed it.

She swiveled around and saw his face had paled almost white as a ghost. He was startled by Emma, like a criminal being caught, and simply gawked at her, his eyes widening with fear. _What was going on?_

"Are you sure? That's impossible, she's been gone—"

_She? And what was impossible?_ Her mind raced from one possibility to the next because the grave expression on Graham's face definitely said she should be alarmed.

"Okay. Yeah. I will. Talk to you later."

"Graham, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Something like that," his eyebrows furrowed together in frustration and terror.

He was afraid of something, afraid to say something, so Emma did what she did best: she extracted the truth with a bombardment of questions, something she and her mother clearly had in common.

"Emma…" was all Graham would spill out. This worried her more because it was like he was trying to break the bad news to _her._

"Graham, you need to tell me. Is everything alright? Is someone hurt? Do we need to go right now?"

Graham thought long and hard, shaking his head no at her questions.

"Graham," Emma drew out, "What's going on?" she said with softness to her voice.

More silence pursued to the point where Emma threatened him,

"Graham, if you don't tell me what's wrong, if there's some sort of emergency, or if Killian's in trouble, I will drag it out of you, I swear it—"

"Milah _died_ yesterday."

Shock washed over her face. Confusion took over. "What?"

"That was my uncle on the phone. Emma… I think she went back to find him."

Milah, the force that Killian was trying so hard to overcome, had just arrived to Storybrooke in the most tragic way possible.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**A/N: Please review, my lovelies!**


	13. Smother

**A/N: *sigh* This hiatus has finally taken its toll on me. I need some OUaT in my life. Stat. **

**Only a few more days… **_**Only a few more days.**_

**Shout out to my guest reader, "Jen."**

**I encourage you, Jen, to write that fic that you outlined so thoroughly in your review of Chapter 12-I'd read it and I'm sure others would, too.**

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Chapter 13: Smother**

Emma's heart stopped. How would they break the news? How would he take it? Obviously he wouldn't take it well, but some selfish part of her hoped that he didn't care as much as to derail everything they had built together.

"She was looking for him?" her heart sank. She felt nauseous; she felt like throwing up from the impending disaster that was sure to come when she got home. How could this happen? It just seemed so cruel and twisted like the Fates themselves were against their happiness. '_Stop being so self-entered, Emma. She died. Killian's going to be destroyed. None of this grief or shock belongs to you. You're out of place. You have no place, so just stop,'_ she told herself silently.

It was no secret that Graham was not a fan of Milah and even he had to admit deep down that Milah's death could change everything. He didn't want Killian to spiral down again into that dark hole he had dug himself into to escape the world the first time. He just didn't want his friend to hurt, but that was inevitable. Milah may not have had a place in his life now, but she was everything to him in the past.

The question now was whether Killian could withstand facing his past, but his track record of the times he had before wasn't reassuring.

"Emma, look, don't panic. It was over between them. He's been in love with you for how many months now? And, that's not just including the time you two have been dating. He's going to be okay because he's got you—"

Emma interrupted his pep talk, "That doesn't mean he's just not going to feel anything. She was looking for him. Why else would she go back there? God this is just so…" she trailed off, she felt a massive headache coming on.

Emma stayed at the station longer than usual. She trudged home with the weight of his ex's death on her shoulders. She didn't know what to do and hoped that Graham would be calling Killian sooner rather than later. She couldn't bear to look him in the eyes and watch as the happiness faded from them. She couldn't watch that transformation from her charismatic and charming Killian to the one from a little over half a year ago with whiskey on his breath.

She could never forget how damaged he was that day of the dreaded 'anniversary' and how watching him suffer, alone in his own personal hell, made her feel helpless. Killian was everything to her and right now he needed all the support—and space, she grew frightened at the thought—he could get during this time. Whatever Killian wanted, she would have to give it to him because she loved him, and sometimes in love, we have to make sacrifices.

She walked a little slower up to the house then stood at the gate, staring to her left at the vast expanse of ocean next to her. It looked so calm and untouched by this tragedy. This was all so surreal. How could the world keep going around her while hers was getting ready to crash and burn?

She swallowed back her nervousness and moved to shut the gate when she caught a glimpse of Killiam sitting on the couch through the window; the phone hanging limply in his hand. He seemed unaware of her as she walked up to the door, but when she let the door slowly creek open, fighting her instinct to flee, she was pulled into strong arms. Killian hugged her so tight, afraid she might disappear.

"Where were you? I was so worried," his voice cracking with concern.

"I was at the station… Um, so," she had no clue how to approach it, "Graham call you yet?"

"Yeah I talked to him for a minute," he said indifferently to Emma's surprise. He moved to kiss her with such passionate force, but Emma just watched him with wide-eyes. "I love you. You know that, right? I love you so much."

"Killian, are you… How are you doing?"

"Much better now that my angel is here," he smiled at her, no hint of pain in his eyes. "Come on, let's get out of here. We need a change of scenery. There's a place in the next town over that I'm sure you'll like."

"Killian…" She was expecting—well, she didn't really know what she was expecting, but it wasn't this. She needed to call Graham. Maybe Graham had lied, and if that were the case, then she had to tell him the truth. '_No secrets, remember?'_

"Well, you're already ready—and beautiful, I might add—just let me get my coat and we'll be on our way."

Emma stood in the same spot as Killian raced around her to get his things.

"Emma, are _you_ okay? You look dazed," he frowned.

"Yeah, I, uh," her voice faltering, "just had a long day at work." He crossed over to her and took her hands in his, kissing her knuckles.

"It always feels like time runs slower when I'm away from you," he gazed up at her, a beaming smile on his fac_e._

'_What the hell is going on?'_

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Graham! Why didn't you tell him!" Emma whispered harshly into her phone from the ladies' room.

"What do you mean? I did," Graham was so confused, he had talked to Killian on the phone, and Killian had just remained silent. _'Probably processing,'_ Graham had dismissed. "Why? Is everything okay?"

"I don't know, he took me out on a date!"

"And that's a bad thing...?" he patronized.

"It is when you find out that the ex-girlfriend you spent five years trying to get over died looking for you!"

"Yeah, about that—I called my uncle after you left the station. And look, only Milah will know whether she was really there to patch things up, but what we do know is that she got into a car accident. The guy she was with is in ICU still; toxicology report confirmed that she was definitely driving under the influence when she got behind the wheel."

"Jesus." Emma smoothed her hair back. The more details that surfaced the more gruesome and real all this became. "Does Killian know that?"

"He knows all of it. I didn't hold anything back."

"He's not grieving. He's like not even fazed. He's still laughing and talkative and attentive—"

"Maybe he's in denial…" Graham said gravely.

"Oh, shit," was all Emma replied.

She walked back to their table; Killian was intently studying the menu, the worry on his face quickly replaced with joviality by Emma's arrival."Hello, love," he flashed her a grin and returned his eyes to the menu. "Do you have an idea of what you want to order?"

"Killian, we should talk about this."

"We are talking about it, love," he said cooly. Emma wasn't sure how to approach this—if she was even supposed to approach it at all, but she ignored her instincts and went in anyway.

"No, I mean, about what happened…" she leaned into the table, trying to catch his eyes.

He clenched his jaw, he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't even want to acknowledge it. Right when his life was getting back on track, _she_ had to come back in and ruin everything. Well he wasn't going to let her ruin things with Emma. His eyes grew cold and his expression dark, "There's nothing to talk about." He glanced up and saw the cautious look on Emma, the look of someone who wasn't sure to be on guard or feel safe; he'd never talked to her that way.

"No, Emma, I'm sorry; I didn't mean it like that," he apologized, the light coming back to his stormy eyes, "I just…" he looked to frantic, so powerless, and Emma? She felt horribly guilty and inadequate. "Please, let's just order and have a good time tonight, okay?"

"Okay," she did her best to smile sincerely, but the pity she felt towards him kept her from really enjoying their date. Killian didn't seem to mind her quietness though, he was chattering away about anything and everything. Did she like the food? If not he would switch with her. Did she like the restaurant? Because they could always go somewhere else. How was work? Maybe he should get off earlier during the week so he could walk her home.

All Emma could think of was the desperation in his tone whenever he started fussing. She felt so many emotions all at once—concern for him, mad at Milah, pity for Milah, confused of what to do, useless because she knew she really couldn't do anything, and terrified that everything they had going for them did in fact have an expiration date. She could only imagine how he was feeling. No doubt, judging from the darkness in his eyes when she brought up the subject, he was angry, too.

They had a nice night out despite it all. Killian was being such a gentleman and Emma entertained him with a plastered smile on her face. On the ride home, an uncomfortable silence filled the car.

There was so much tension between them because of what Emma knew and what Killian knew Emma knew, but when they arrived home and jumped into bed, he cradled her strongly in his arms, laying kisses on her shoulder and in her hair. Emma held onto his hand and intertwined their legs. He whispered wonderful things about how much he loved her, but she couldn't help but still feel the something constricting around her heart.

Although he wasn't a mess on the couch with a bloodied hand and drunken slur, the Killian who took her out to dinner wasn't hers either. He was a mess in another way, hiding behind his feelings for her.

In this moment though, in their dark room, she could hear a little of his anguish slipping through his words. She knew that inside he was unreachable to everyone including her, and that scared Emma more than anything.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It had been a little over two weeks when Emma woke in a panic. She couldn't remember her dream, but she could still feel the lingering anxiety and chaos from it. She was so stressed over making sure Killian was alright and that meant her acting like everything was all sunshine and rainbows all the time. His happiness had become dependent on hers. She felt a hand reach out to her and she jumped.

"G'morning, beautiful," he muttered into his pillow, feeling her stir.

"You're late for work! It's already eight!"

"I called in for a personal day. Haven't taken a vacation in four years; they'll survive. Besides, I couldn't resist a gorgeous woman in bed with me."

She gave him a small laugh and laid back down, staring at the ceiling. Killian never took off work, no matter how late they stayed up or how much she tried to coax him into staying in bed; he just didn't do that—he was a proper workaholic. "So you're just going to relax today I hope," she hinted at the subject they weren't suppose to talk about. This was good, it would give him time to reflect,_ 'and to grieve,'_ Emma hoped.

"For a little while, then I thought I'd stop by your work at lunch, maybe hang out until you get off work so I can walk you home," he smiled, turning his face away from the pillow. The gesture was sweet and any other time she would have loved it, but the past couple of weeks had been smothering. She didn't mind spending time with him and sometimes she wished they didn't have work, but this was different. The way he needed her was different. His desperation for her approval never went away.

Her eyes screamed with uncertainty. Killian could always read her eyes—she was like an open book if you knew what to look for, but in the state he was in, he didn't bother with it and just admired her morning beauty.

God she looked so striking in the morning light; he couldn't lose her. The last couple of weeks were filled with crazy ups and downs for Killian. He recognized that he was thinking about Emma more often, but he failed to realize the triggered anxiety of not having her happy all the time. He wanted to make sure she was happy with him, that she would never leave him, and that she was safe from all harm.

He couldn't bear to lose her because without her… The poisonous thoughts began to creep in, but he shut them out by returning his attentions back to Emma. "I'm going to make you breakfast!"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Emma burst through the station door an hour later. "Graham!"

"Whoa, where's the fire?" preoccupied with playing office basketball with a balled up memo and trash bin.

"We need to do something."

"I'm assuming we're talking about Killian?"

"_Yes," _she hissed, "we are talking about Killian. He won't talk about it. He just keeps focusing on me! _He's not dealing with his problems._ He's just _using_ me as a distraction and I don't know how much longer I can take the pressure," she tried to explain but to no avail.

There was only pure confusion on Graham's face; after all, Graham hadn't even seen Killian since the day he'd gotten the phone call. Killian put his best friend on the back burner because he was too busy spending every free moment he had with Emma.

"Watch! He's coming by at lunch and staying until I get off."

"Wait, hold up, our Killian—Killian Jones—took the day off _just because_?" he said. "That's unbelievable. We had the most raging night at the bar and I couldn't even convince him not to go," Graham said distractedly.

"Graham, I don't know how to deal with this. It's like if I'm not happy, he freaks the hell out. I have to _act_ happy just to make sure he stays sane. It's so intense and I just want him back…"

"Okay, okay. We'll see what happens at lunch then. It's the only thing we _can_ do."

The two of them got very little work done in the office as they took turns glancing at the old clock on the wall. Right at noon, the door sounded down the hall and Killian walked in with a bag full of take out and a bouquet of red roses.

"Graham! Mate, how're you doing?" he said, placing the take out on Graham's desk then proceeding over to Emma with a goofy grin.

"Just fine…" Graham stopped rifling through the bag and watched as Killian presented the flowers to Emma.

They really were beautiful and Emma was stunned by yet another of his grand gestures from the week. "Wow," she started, "they're beautiful and look at that color."

Killian's face fell. '_She doesn't like them, she's trying to be nice about it; she's so kind and perfect.'_

"Thank you," she half smiled.

"You hate them," he said with panic on his face, "I knew I should've gone with the pink. Why did I pick the bloody red ones, I'm such an idiot. I'm sorry, Emma, here, I'll go get the—"

He was cut off by Emma's lips on his. When they finally released, the wild look in Killian's eyes lessened. "I love them, they're a beautiful color. You couldn't have picked a better one."

"I still feel like you're just saying that. What do the colors mean again?"

"I mean it! Red means love and I love you. So have a seat and relax. It's your day off; you shouldn't be worrying about flower colors."

"Pink means admiration and gentle love!" Graham chimed in back of them. Emma was livid and Killian looked deep in thought, "I googled it."

'_Great, Graham. Way to go." _Emma thought bitterly.

"I should've gotten a mix of both. Emma, you deserve both loves, both symbols… I'll be right back," he said like he had done something unforgiveable. After they heard the bell chime on Killian's exit, Emma looked at Graham disbelievingly,

"What the hell, Graham? Why don't you read the whole damn list while you're at it."

"He's messed up…"

"You think? Did you see that? I couldn't even be surprised without him misreading it. He—he… I don't know what he's doing, but it's just getting to be too much. I feel like I'm going to hurt him if I don't smile; he's so hypersensitive."

"Maybe leave the house for a bit; _force_ him to be alone with his thoughts. That way he won't have any distractions?"

"That might just work. If I was able to go on a little vacation, could you cover for me?"

"Of course. This is a joint effort; we need him to snap out of it. He needs to just deal because this Killian is going to explode from his _undying love_ for you."

'_That's the second time someone's said that,'_ Emma thought.

"Now you have one to take home and one for the office!" Killian chimed.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

He waited for her just as he had promised, but after three hours into the wait, he started to doze off in the chair he had slid next to Emma's.

"Killian, Killian," Emma gently nudged his arm.

"Hm?"

"Go lay down on the cot."

"No, it's alright, I'm okay. I want to be near you, love."

"Please?" She decided to test her influence, "I'd feel better if I saw you more comfortable. Please?"

"Okay," he kissed her cheek and walked over to the cot in the cell. He laid there in the open cell and looked at Emma who was working steadily, too busy to notice him. He rolled onto his back and stared. This is where he had been on the anniversary of Mi—

Nope. He wasn't even going to think the name. He wasn't going to let himself get back into that place with _her._ So, he got up in a flash and was back by Emma's side, playing with her paper weight to try to keep his mind active. He was bored out of his mind, but he needed to be by Emma. He was aware of what he was doing, but he couldn't control it. He couldn't lose Emma, too, so he let his fear take hold of him.

Now, he was just a confused man who was only sure about one thing—he loved this woman next to him. She was everything to him before, and now she was everything and more. Without her, he was nothing; he was broken. He needed her because without Emma, memories of _her_ came back.

_She_ had been so impulsive.

'_She found herself a companion quick enough when she couldn't find me,'_ he thought resentfully.

Maybe she just came to apologize—cleanse her guilty conscience. His grip tightened around the paper weight, the corners threatening to pierce his palm. She must've had a death wish. Who in their right mind would do something like that? She's always been reckless, but never stupid.

Killian sat there with his thoughts. He didn't even notice Emma leaving to go talk on her cell outside. When she returned, he was just about to fret about her going outside at this time of night, but Emma nipped it in the bud. "It's okay. Just taking a phone call. Actually, I was just planning a trip with my mom." Killian's face flooded with horror just as Emma anticipated, so she serenely said, "I'll only be gone a week and a half."

The fear took over Killian again. He stammered, "How—Well—Is it going to be safe?"

"It's going to be fine. It's my mom that we're talking about. We're just going to go spend some mother-daughter time." He thought of the ways he could stop her from going, but she added, "I'm really excited to go. I'll miss you though." Kissing him and holding his face in her hands, she could see that desperation in his eyes again, but she pretended to be oblivious and smiled.

"I'm glad you're going to have fun with your mother," he said quietly, sadness creeping in. "So, when are you leaving on this trip?"

"I'm thinking tomorrow."

"So soon?"

"Yeah, Graham can only cover for me for so long." _'And besides, you're going to need as much time to yourself as you can get.'_

The next day, Emma packed her bags and placed them by the door. Killian sat numbly on one of the barstools at the counter watching Emma shift about the house preparing to leave him. When she was all done, she gestured for him to come sit with her in the living room.

She hugged him, but he merely leaned his head on her shoulder.

"You know I love you right? I've never loved a person as much as I love you," she planted kisses on his face.

"I love you, Emma," but his tone was distant and his gaze far away. He wished he had the strength to be on his own, to control his thoughts, and to allow himself to feel. He didn't want Emma to go and it took nearly all of his will power not to beg her to stay. He couldn't risk losing Emma like he had scared off… _her_. It seemed like ever since the accident, _she_ had snuck up on him; reminding him that _she_ was never fully gone.

That's why he needed Emma. He needed Emma to chase _her_ away. His past didn't sneak up on him, it crash landed into his life and now…

Now he was being forced to pick up the pieces.

**Review?**


	14. Pedestal

**A/N: So, I just wanted to let you all know that I might have a heart attack sometime during tomorrow's episode of Once Upon a Time. HIATUS IS OVER! YES! YEAH! **

**Happy reading!**

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**Chapter 14: Pedestal**

Killian helped load Emma's suitcase into the trunk of Mary Margaret's car. Both women put on their best happy faces, ignoring the look of despair in his bright blue eyes. Emma gave him one last hug. He buried his face into her hair, memorizing the feeling of her arms wrapped around his body. She was the first to pull away; lifting her hand to cup Killian's cheek, bringing his gaze back up to hers.

She spoke comfortingly, "It's only for a little while. I'll be back before you know it."

His eyes betrayed him as a sad longing leaked into them. She was really about to do this. To just leave him alone. Emma told herself that it was necessary. It was extreme, yes, but on the other hand maybe that's what he needed—what _they_ needed because at the rate he was going at, she wouldn't be able to take much more.

With a slight tug from Mary Margaret, she left him standing at the gate as he half-heartedly waved goodbye until the car was out of sight.

When Emma couldn't see Killian anymore from the side mirror, her mother reassured her. "You're doing the right thing, sweetheart. You're doing the only thing you can."

Mary Margaret took her daughter's hand.

"He just needs to focus on himself and this is the best way how. Watch, it's only a matter of time before those walls start coming down."

"What if he… Oh my god, he's going to crack. Turn the car around. I have to go back."

"No, Emma." Mary Margaret looked at her daughter sternly, a commanding finger pointing at her, "You're going to stay put and we're going to have a wonderful vacation while your boyfriend works on himself."

"He needs me though, and I just abandoned him. What if I'm making things worse?"

"He _needs_ to let himself face reality. Remember what I said? You need to have faith that the Killian you love is somewhere in that mess and that he's trying to climb out of it. With you there, he's only going to deny her death even more."

Emma sighed and let the conversation drop. Her mother was right, but Emma dreaded the idea of her Killian being broken and wounded with no one to hold him. She huffed, but she also wanted him to stop trying to fix her. She was a human being—a person with emotions, both light and dark. She couldn't be happy all the time like how he was requiring her to be. He was seeing what he wanted to see—his_ goddess_, but now, she had to be his angel by doing the hardest thing for them: leaving.

Killian did put up a fight though.

The day that she left, she received two phone calls from him. She hadn't even gotten to the hotel on the first ring, and on the second, she wasn't even unpacked yet. At first, she indulged in him much to Mary Margaret's disapproving glower—giving him updates on the size of the room and how nice the view was.

The second day, he called her even more and their conversational topics dwindled. She started, much to her dismay, to see just how desperate he was to avoid confronting his feelings; even if that meant compromising their relationship. That's when Emma started to taper their conversations down.

'_Like weaning someone off drugs,'_ she thought, _'Much like when he was getting over Milah...'_ Was she his new drug? That evening when he found out about Milah, was the night she became something else entirely to him. She shivered at the thought. Had she lost him already? Was there no return from this?She needed him to embrace her absence and work on himself already; the uncertainty was killing her.

By the third day, she had conceded to shutting off her phone. Mary Margaret then sent him a text saying that Emma didn't have her charger. Apparently, Emma couldn't get him to grieve unless she cut off all forms of communication with him. He was just too latched on to her.

The Killian in her memory didn't do things like this; he didn't project his insecurities on her.

'_This is for the best,'_ she kept telling herself because their relationship was just unhealthy for the both of them right now. Still, she couldn't help but feel like she was being cruel. The irrational part of her just wanted to drive back home, wrap her arms around him, and never let go. She missed him, but Killian just wasn't okay right now.

The days passed and each night Emma tossed and turned with her thoughts, examining her decision from all angles. She just really hoped that she had made the right decision for the both of them. She wondered how he was holding up, and she had an inkling that it wasn't going well.

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Killian spent a good amount of his weekend just cleaning up the house, already preparing for Emma's return. He hadn't been able to get a hold of her in days and it was bringing him to the brink of insanity. Eventually he ran out of things to do, but refusing to sit with his emotions, he reached for his phone and called Graham who gave an apology for not being able to see him either.

Killian didn't know what else to do; everyone had left him alone and he couldn't be alone right now without his mind wandering to the accident. He stood in the kitchen as his rage and misery starting to bleed into the quiet space around him, so he ran from it and back to his room. Unsuccessfully trying to quiet his mind, he laid there; turning up the radio to block out the noise of his thoughts until sleep eventually overcame him.

The next day, he felt even worse when he awoke, yet again, to no Emma. He groaned in frustration—he needed Emma back. It was getting harder to fight the demons without seeing or talking to her. He needed to keep busy, to occupy himself before he started to think about the forbidden subject, so he quickly dressed and left early to work.

Work, well, it barely distracted him. Without him knowing, Graham convinced Killian's boss to _make him_ take some time off; all the while, Killian couldn't wrap his head around why they had insisted he use his accumulated vacation time _now_, of all weeks.

Once home, he fell back onto the couch and let his head fall back. His mental exhaustion was becoming too much for him to bear. It was like the universe was conspiring against him. He felt physically drained no matter how much he slept.

The days afterward started to lose their form. Graham had long stopped answering his texts and calls which only infuriated Killian more. He slammed his phone down with so much force it nearly broke. Without Emma to light the way, he felt the darkness enfolding around him.

Being angry opened the floodgate of emotions. Before he was afraid to say or even think her name as if it would somehow invoke her spirit, invite her back into his life, but now, in his rage, he cursed with hatred in his voice, "Damnit, Milah!"

He had so much to say to her. He was angry at Milah for being so careless; angry that she waited this many years to reach out. He was angry that he was starting to ruin everything wonderful between him and Emma. He was angry that he hadn't been strong enough to just accept the past in the first place; angry that his emotions were so conflicting right now.

Killian may not have liked her so much in the end, but there would always be a part of him that loved her and the good times they had shared together. He let his memories flow, remembering their silent conversations; the way the communicated with their eyes and a smile here and there. It had been so innocent, just laughing at the people and world around them. He felt his expression soften while he reminisced.

In that instant, so early in his relationship with Milah, was a simpler kind of love—the kind that he had felt with Emma the first time she'd beaten him at poker. It was a pure love, devoid of selfishness, and somehow along the way he had managed to mess things up with both women.

That's when it hit him.

In the beginning, he may have fallen in love with Milah, but in the end it was the _idea_ of her that he wanted—wanted to settle down with, wanted to marry, and wanted to save him. Milah stopped being the young woman who approached him so boldly in the bar and became the woman he had put on a pedestal.

He had constructed an image with Milah's name and face, but not with the essence of who she was as a real person. No wonder she had pulled away from him; his relationship with Milah was over long before she had left.

Milah had offered him the chance to see the whole world, to escape his miserable hole of a home, and for that he deified her; forgetting that she needed the freedom to make mistakes and be flawed. The pressure just got to be too much and she pulled away—flirting with other men, ignoring Killian, and then eventually running away from him.

He had wanted her to be someone she wasn't.

He had wanted her to be his cure, but she was only a person; a person who shouldn't have had to live up to anyone's expectations, including his.

That night Killian could barely sleep without the feeling of regret making him sick.

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In this time, he wasn't expected to go to work or to be a friend or boyfriend. He just had to be himself, but that was really difficult with the onslaught of revelations assaulting him.

For hours he laid there, but he couldn't stop it; the pain started to slice and cut its way to the surface. He realized that the real Milah wasn't cold-hearted, just scared. Killian squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. The real Milah was dead now.

That's when began to mourn the real person that Milah was; a free-spirited, wondrous, and exuberant person who was so cruelly taken from this world. She'd always been full of life and it hurt him to think that that spark was gone from her eyes. She wouldn't never grow old or tell her stories. That was it. No second chances.

The world would keep on spinning as if nothing had happened—like it didn't just lose one of its most enthusiastic people. He finally felt a heartrending sadness stab him. This woman who had been so crucial in his life was gone just like that; no goodbyes, no closure, just nothing. She was gone and he finally allowed himself to grieve his loss.

He lost track of the days again, but managed to pull himself out of bed one afternoon. It was a gray day, he acknowledged; sitting at the table with his eyes turned to the ocean. He would never have the chance to apologize for making her feel inadequate, for being so selfish, but there was nothing he could do except hope that she could see it from wherever she was.

He sat there with his own thoughts for hours—just watching the waves hitting the shore, and though he felt raw and exhausted, he hadn't felt so strong and certain in a long time. Killian had finally faced the lies he had been telling himself, and where there was honesty, there was peace of mind. There were no lurking shadows, hidden agendas, or buried truths; everything was laid out on the table and it felt good to see finally see everything so clearly.

He understood then that Milah would want him to be happy. She didn't want him to suffer, he had been wrong all these years; misunderstanding her intentions, the note she had left him.

She was just trying to escape the charade. Both Milah and Emma had left him, promising to return—and Milah eventually did, but by that point his heart belonged to a very special woman. A woman whom Killian missed very much and as much as he dreaded doing this—it was the right thing to do, and if he had any hope of cleaning up the mess he had made, he had to do right by Emma.

He picked up his cell and called Mary Margaret. She answered in a forced cheery voice and immediately started to make an excuse to get off the phone.

"Mrs. Nolan, I get it now. I just need to speak to Emma, please," he said calmly, a little shame in his voice.

Mary Margaret looked at her daughter who was staring wide-eyed and hopeful that it was Killian. "I… Um… Yeah, yes, okay. Hold on." She held the phone out to Emma, "It's for you."

Emma grabbed the phone and let out a frantic, "Hello?" She was desperate to hear his voice, to make sure he was okay.

"You can come home now."

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**A/N: ****Just want to say that I love all your support, lovelies—the comments, the favorites and follows. It makes my crappy days so much better.**

**Hope you all enjoyed reading, next update soon**


	15. Leaving

**A/N: I feel horrible. After reading your comments on the last chapter, I realized just how much I traumatized you all. Well, here's the new chapter!**

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**Chapter 15: Leaving**

'_You can come home now.'_

The words still rang in her head while Emma stared out on the patio of their hotel room. The sea glittered with the pale light of the moon, but all she could think of was Killian and getting back to him as soon as possible. She needed to go home now, she wanted to, but she just had to exercise her patience and wait until morning. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair, to feel his warmth, to take in his scent, and to get lost in his cerulean gaze. Leaving him had pained her, but it sounded like it wasn't in vain, that it had helped.

He had told her to come home, but there wasn't any begging in his voice or desperation—only that old familiar cadence like when he would joke. It was something she hadn't heard in a long while and missed dearly. He sounded lighter and a little tired, but she hadn't expected anything less after most likely the two most grueling weeks that he had had to endure.

Deciding to chance it, to have faith, she picked up her cell and turned it on. There was one voicemail. She called it and what she heard made her cringe. It was a panicked message from him filled with anguish. The fear and anxiety dripped from his words and she quickly hit erase on the dial pad. Maybe she shouldn't call him, or maybe if she did, she could test the waters to see if her Killian had finally returned.

She quietly closed the patio door with a soft click and with slow deliberate movements, she scrolled through her contacts until she hit his number and clicked it.

It rang, her own anxiety building up, and rang some more. She wondered if he would even pick up with it being so late in the night. What if he did pick up? Would she regret it? If he was anything like he'd been before, she'd have to tell him the truth: that she couldn't be with him anymore. It wasn't good for either of them if he was still refusing to grieve. If she had talked to him while he was in a moment of ephemeral tranquility earlier, then what else could be done except to part ways?

Calling now would mean that she would have to face the reality of the situation and it scared her to death. The call went to voicemail.

She stared back out at the sea. She thought back to their boat ride at the park and how wonderful it had felt. Closing her eyes, she envisioned him looking at her with only love and adoration. There was nothing obsessive about it, just pure affection.

The memory struck a chord in her and her faith was revived. She was going to call him and hopefully she could keep it together. She missed him so much and the thought of having to leave him permanently made her sick. Distress overcame her and she felt her breathing become shallower.

This was it.

She dreaded this moment, but she needed to know if he was stable or not.

She needed to know if their relationship had run its course.

"One more time," she whispered to the moon and heavens beaming down at her.

It just kept ringing again, so she closed her eyes realizing that despite her fears, she wanted to talk to him again. For a second, she didn't care about his problems—only hearing from him. On cue, she heard the abrupt click of static as the microphone adjusted to his hoarse voice,

"Hello?"

"Hey," she was grinning like a fool now, she couldn't help it. Hearing him shot a rush of adrenaline through her body. "I'm sorry I woke you up, I just… Yeah, I wanted to hear you."

"That's okay," he rolled onto his back. "You know, I think I was just dreaming of you," he said with a laugh. She gave a half-hearted chuckle and he let out a contented sigh, "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I couldn't. Too excited about seeing you I suppose," she said.

"Or too nervous."

Now she was speechless. This whole operation was supposed to be incognito, but the more he returned to his senses, the more he saw through the ruse. It was hard not to; the universe really _was_ conspiring against him—or at least Graham and Emma were.

"It's okay, Emma. I want to thank you." His voice was steady and thoughtful, so different than the impulsive stream of words that would flow before. Emma took notice and felt hope. Something was stirring in her, welling up in her chest.

"For leaving?" she inquired knowing full well that his answer wouldn't be as obvious as that, but she played dumb anyway.

"For not giving up on me," he spoke, now fully awake.

"I miss you," she confessed. This was her Killian, she was sure of it and the tone of his words afterwards only confirmed it.

"I miss you, too," he said wistfully. Static took over once more as they remained silent. "I love you, Emma," he said so softly, drawing out the words as if he were confessing it for the first time.

Her eyes watered, she wanted to cry; this whole experience had been so intense and all she had wanted to hear was his voice—without the desperation—to see him without being pored over.

"I love you, too, Killian," she choked out, breathing shakily into the phone.

"Don't cry, love. I'll see you in just a few hours. It'll feel like nothing if you go to sleep now."

She sniffled; the Killian she loved had come back and was taking care of _her._ .

"Can we, uh," she wiped her eyes. "Could we just stay on the phone?"

"Of course, love."

She choked out a sob, covering her mouth with her hand as another escaped. Killian couldn't stand to hear her this way and was about to say something before she beat him to it. "I just really miss you," she cried, her voice high-pitched and pained.

"I miss you so much," he said in sadness. He had caused this and Emma was paying for it. "Now get into bed, darling" he said soothingly. She took a few deep breaths and composed herself, then moved silently into the room—curling underneath the covers and cradling the phone to her ear. "Are you there yet?"

"Yeah," she said as quietly as she could. It damn near broke Killian's heart to hear her sound so feeble—to think that their separation was all because he couldn't keep it together.

"Now close your eyes, relax, and breathe slowly—no more crying, okay?."

"Okay," she whispered.

"Pretend I'm right there beside you. You're safe and loved and going to fall asleep with me here."

"Good night, Killian."

"Good night, my Emma."

She fell asleep minutes later, comforted knowing he was on the other line—linked to him in some way.

Killian listened to her breathing slow, wishing she was here beside him already.

All the while Mary Margaret pretended to be asleep, fighting off a smile at her daughter in love.

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Emma nearly jumped out of her seat when they passed the sign welcoming them to Storybrooke.

"He might still need some time, Emma. These things don't just disappear overnight," Mary Margaret advised.

"Yeah, you're right as always, but if you had heard him, mom..." She couldn't stop that stupid grin from returning, the more she thought about him, the more her smile grew. She let her hair hide her face and turned to the trees whizzing by. A few more minutes and she'd be reunited with Killian.

They pulled up to the house and Emma rolled her suitcase over the uneven cobblestone path. She breathed in the salty air and exhaled in relief, it was still early in the morning and she couldn't tell if it was her nerves or the cold wind cutting through her, but she was trembling. She pulled her suitcase up the steps and when she turned around, there he was, his hair ruffled, still in sweats and a t-shirt.

They locked eyes and just stared at each other for a moment, their hearts racing. Emma was the first to break, her smile lighting up the morning sky and Killian rushed to her, squeezing her tight. '_This was how they should be_,' they both thought. He couldn't believe that she was finally here in his arms again, and most importantly, with genuine happiness radiating off of her. He leaned back to face her, alternating between smiling and laughing.

Was it the cold air or their long awaited reunion that made their bodies press even closer? Either way, there they were; a blissful couple once more—not perfect but trying their best—, slowly leaning in for an innocent feather-light kiss. Killian pulled away and laced his hand in hers, dragging her luggage along with the other. Inside the house, she hopped onto one of the kitchen barstools and just watched him as he steadied the bag on its wheels.

She leaned back against the edge of the counter as he sauntered over to her. Stepping between her legs, he pulled her close, his face inches from hers. He peppered kisses all over before moving down closer and closer to her mouth. Emma's eyes lowered when she felt his lips brush over hers.

"I missed this," he said seductively onto her lips.

'_That's it.'_ Emma tangled her fingers into his unruly hair and kissed him hungrily, ending their delicate moment. It caught Killian off guard for only a second and she swore she could feel him smirk against her lips. He returned it with just as much force and brushed his tongue along her bottom lip.

That was definitely it. She slid off the stool, and wrapped her arms around his waist, never breaking contact with his lips. When they finally came up for air, Killian swooped her up and carried her to his bedroom, where he'd spent so many nights imagining Emma there beside him.

Clothes were carelessly discarded around the room then falling back onto the bed, they relished the feeling of being together again.

After what seemed like an eternity, they lay there; her head resting on his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat, and his arm pulling her close to him. He pulled the sheets over them and kissed the top of her head.

"I'm sorry," he said after laying in silence for a while.

"Hmm?" She rested her chin on his chest to get a better view of his face.

"I'm sorry that I was acting so crazy. I shouldn't have done that to you—you know, expect you to make it all go away. It was selfish of me to use you like that, to use _us_." He got quiet for a minute. Emma was wordless though and waited for him to say more. "Love," he continued, "shouldn't be like that. Love is supposed to be about trust… and selflessness, but I wasn't doing either of those things. I didn't trust your feelings for me a couple weeks ago and I'm sorry…"

"Killian, I'm not some _magical_ _solution_ to make your problems go away and yeah, it drove me a little crazy, but I'm here for you if you want to deal with anything _together_." The words flowed from her. He was silent. Was she too harsh?

"That's why I love you, Emma. You make me want to be better," he let his head fall back onto the pillow and closed his eyes, "I'll do right by you, I swear it. From now on. Just… Don't stop trusting me, okay? Don't start doubting what we have." He was in no position to make demands, but he had to try to clean up his mess the best way he could and he relied on what he knew for certain with Emma: honesty was the best policy.

His plea was answered with her lips hovering over his, her golden hair spilling down around his face. She gave him a soft kiss, much like the one they had shared on the porch. He smiled into the kiss, feeling her lips on his.

"What was that for?" he mused.

"For trying," her words echoing their first date in the lighthouse.

He remembered it well for he had never felt so validated until now, that is. There was an amount of certainty that Emma gave him, more than he'd ever experienced in his life.

"That was the deal, remember? I have to trust you and, Killian, I do."

"So," he breathed onto her lips, "What now?"

"We stay in bed as long as we can and ignore the rest of the world. Sound good?"

"Whatever the lady wishes."

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Killian was doing his best to make up for being so suffocating the weeks before. He was honest with her about being afraid of coming off as too overwhelming, but Emma assured him that his good intentions made all the difference between overbearing-Killian and the man she _wanted_ to be around all the time. That's how it was now, Killian and Emma rediscovered and redefined each other's boundaries again and ascended to a new level of closeness with their honesty.

But with that came the unsavory topic of Milah and her death. He wasn't going to hide it from her—Milah's death still plagued him in ways that he couldn't just get over yet; it would take some time for those wounds to heal, but at least they seemed shallower and more manageable instead of the way they festered before.

Emma accepted it, letting him know that it was a bit alarming, but that she was still willing to help him any way she could. Killian had an idea of what would help him, but unfortunately it didn't include Emma in the picture.

"How long would you be gone?" she questioned.

"A week; two at most. I just need to see it—to see that it's true. I think it'll help it sink in a bit more because right now, a part of me is still in a little bit of denial. I want that to go away."

Emma didn't want to let him go. The weeks they had been apart were torture enough for her and that was when he had gone around the bend, too. So, to have him leave her when their relationship flourished made her uncomfortable. That selfish part of her wanted to tell him no, as would he if the roles had been reversed, but she knew that this was the right thing to do. She would want to see it, too, to know for sure that it was over, no matter how painful. This was the closure he needed.

She was still scared though; scared that this trip would change things between them for the worst. After all, she was an outsider in all of this. She didn't know Milah personally, only from what Killian had told her. From her observations, relationships tended to deteriorate when death and grieving were involved. She was afraid it would drive a stake into what they had accomplished together; that their different experiences would make them disconnect. He guaranteed that that wasn't going to happen. The worst was behind them and things would only get better—_stronger_, so she let him go.

The resonant sound of her mother's words reminding her, _'You just have to have faith that he's figuring out a way to make sure his past doesn't collide with what he has with you.'_ And that's what Killian was doing; he wasn't denying his past anymore, but he was trying to make sure that it stayed out of his present—and future with Emma.

So she drove Killian and Graham, who was accompanying him much to Emma's relief, to the airport and with a parting kiss she watched as her love walked away.

This time, leaving _her_ behind.

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**A/N: See? That wasn't so bad, right guys? Leave a review below!**


	16. Calm Before the Storm

**A/N: I got kind of stuck for a moment, but I'm back! The next chapter is nearly done and hopefully you'll enjoy this one. It's been a rollercoaster, but eventually it'll come to a stop—just not now. *evil smirk***

**Chapter 16: Calm Before the Storm**

The long flight finally came to an end without a hitch. Killian had the gravest expression etched onto his face as he recalled that this wasn't a vacation for him—it was a time for mourning. The stewardess announced that all passengers could exit the plane, but Killian stayed there gripping his armrests. He wasn't as anxious to get out of there like the other passengers. He was in no hurry to visit a grave.

They stayed with Graham's uncle, a robust divorcee who was more than happy to have the company.

"Yep, I heard 'Milah' and thought, 'Oh, the only Milah I know of came into town years ago and stole away one of my boys,'" Uncle Sean let out a big hearty laugh oblivious to how touchy the subject was. "How are you, my boy? Working? Have a gal, I hear," gesturing in Graham's direction.

"Why Graham, you gossiper, do you keep a diary as well?" Killian said with a smirk, setting down his bag.

"What can I say? I'm just a young girl at heart."

All three men laughed and reveled in their long awaited reunion. It was good to be back with the only semblance of family he had ever had. They sat around the kitchen table reliving the past—the trouble Killian had caused; what became of the pretty girls who chased after him; and, of course, the unremitting pranks on Uncle Sean. His thoughts, however, constantly drifted to the woman waiting for him back home.

Emma balanced the bag of groceries, digging around in her jacket pocket for her keys. This was only her second night without Killian yet she still wished he would come right back home. She locked up and wasted time messing around in the kitchen, but it reminded her of him. So she went to the couch and turned on the TV, but it felt lonely and cold without him snuggled up behind her. Finally she decided on heading to bed which felt just as foreign without his presence.

The dark room was lit only by her phone, resting in the middle of Killian's pillow. She waited for another hour before she closed her eyes and let her mind focus on the safe subject of work when her phone started buzzing.

She fumbled with her phone and answered, "Killian!"

"Good morning," he yawned.

"This time change is so bizarre. What time is it there?"

"Some ungodly hour in the morning."

"You know you didn't have to call then."

"And miss your snoring? Never."

"I do _not _snore," they both laughed; Emma because she thought he was just teasing and Killian because it was absolutely true.

He yawned again and turned on the coffee maker. "So…" he said in a hushed voice, "What are you wearing?"

"Shut up," Emma said immediately, inciting a chuckle from Killian. "I can't sleep."

"You're okay, though, right? I asked your father to check up on you while I'm gone. Think I earned myself some points with him."

"Great, he's probably going to be circling the house all night long."

"You are his princess. Seriously, make sure the house is locked up. Try not to get home so late. Hell, just go stay with your parents while I'm away so I don't have to worry."

"Listen, pal," taking offense to being called a princess, "I don't know if you've forgotten, but I'm sheriff of this town. I'm fine. It's _you_ that you should be worrying about. How's that going?"

"We're probably going to go tomorrow. Don't feel up for it yet. It's not just her grave I have to visit—have to pay respects to mom and the old man."

"Right… I'm sorry." Emma felt a pang of guilt shoot through her heart. She had known the feeling of being alone—to not have her parents—and suddenly felt guilty that she not only had both her parents now, but also that they were the most wonderful people she could hope for. Killian, well, he had lost both his when he was a kid—one to sickness, the other to alcohol.

"Stop feeling guilty," he said perceptively. "It is what it is," knowing full well which direction her mind was going. He switched tracks, "I love you."

"Love you, too. Stay on the phone with me again?"

"How could I refuse anything you ask of me, love?"

A smile pressed into her cheeks and she put the call on speakerphone—pretending he was there beside her while they talked about her day and his night, ending with him humming a soothing tune when sleep started to overcome her.

She had long fallen asleep by now, but Killian balanced the phone on his shoulder while he made himself an omelet. He liked listening to her mumble in her sleep and, though she'd never own up to it, snoring softly.

"Look who's up early—on the phone with his lady, am I right?" Uncle Sean said with a wide smile on his rosy cheeked face.

Unfortunately it was time to start his day while Emma ended hers, so he whispered, "Love you, Ems," and hung up. Turning his attention to Uncle Sean who was about to say something more, he pointed the spatula threateningly and warned, "Shut it."

::::::::::::::

The week was almost over and Killian still hadn't visited Milah's grave.

"How long are you going to put it off?" Graham's frustration apparent. Since denial-Killian had made his debut, Graham had been his own personal life coach; keeping track of his progress and butting in when there didn't seem enough being made.

"Just give me another day." Killian wouldn't admit it to Graham, but he was scared. He was scared to go back there—a graveyard he had frequented too many times.

"Fine. One more day, but that's it. You can't hide in this house forever."

Uncle Sean burst through the door with so much force it slammed off the adjacent wall. He was panting as if he had run here—probably from the bar just down the street. "The man left…" he breathed heavily. "Left the hospital sometime this night."

"Who?"

"The bloke that was in the car with Milah," Killian said, piecing it all together.

"That _bloke_ was her husband."

"What?" Graham and Killian shouted in unison.

"Right, right. I told Harry to tell Owen to tell the inn keeper that you wanted to meet with him before he left anywhere."

Killian stood there, a little wide-eyed and stunned. "Me? Why would you go and do that?"

"It'll be good for you, boy. Get your closure. See what she was up to. Why else would she come to this godforsaken town—the scenery? She was looking for you."

Killian was paralyzed. Astonished that Milah had married, but horrified that he was about to meet her husband.

"Well this should be interesting," Graham added unnecessarily.

::::::::::::::::

"What?" Emma squeaked into the phone.

"I know, I know. I can hardly believe it myself," he pushed back his unruly hair.

"But…" Emma was afraid to point it out, to rub salt in the wound, but she knew he had thought about it, too. "I thought you said… She just didn't sound like the type to go and get hitched."

"She wasn't," a little contempt in his voice. "I'm meeting with him tomorrow. I don't know how that's going to go. Not well, I can assure you."

"If it gets out of hand, just get as many answers as you need and get out."

"Yeah… You're right." He was getting a headache from the all the stress; worst case scenarios playing in his head.

Nothing was going to be solved this way, it'd be best to just deal with it when the time came. He focused back on their conversation.

"I'm sorry to call you at work," he said, his mind still distracted.

"Don't be. I'm glad you did. It's been a slow day and I'm tired of doing paperwork. There's been a storm the last couple of days. Wish you were here to keep me warm."

"Hm," he smiled. Leave it to Emma to make him smile even in the worst circumstances, "God," he drew out, "I miss you. I just want this to be over already so I can come back home." He rested his throbbing head on his hand.

"Well if you'd listen to Graham," she reminded him. "I don't think you should put it off either, Killian. You might need time to digest it after you go…" She was concerned he might relapse and he knew this. Hell, he was kind of unsure himself.

"I know," he whined like a child. She giggled and the sound of her laughter brought him back to the present—and that was that he was talking to his very wise girlfriend. "Oh, Emma. I love you, but why must you be so level-headed all the time," he teased.

"Because you're so hard-headed most of the time," she retorted. "Hey! It's like, what, almost midnight over there? You need to get some sleep for tomorrow. You've got a big day ahead of you."

"Yeah, I am kind of tired. Call you in the morning—or well, night."

"Thank you for always waking up so early. I really can't sleep without you."

"I don't mind. You have the cutest snore."

"Hey!"

"Get back to work, lazy."

They said their goodbyes then he plopped down on the couch and let out a deep breath.

At least tomorrow, in all its sure unpleasantness, he would start off with a phone call to Emma.

::::::::::::::

Killian was still reluctant to see the grave—reluctant to the point that he'd agreed to meet the widowed man first. He stopped outside the Inn, hand lingering on the door handle.

Did he really want to go through with this? If anything, he anticipated the man trying to knock him out—how dare an old flame try to get coffee with his dead ex's husband. This whole situation was just too odd. Still, he agreed with Uncle Sean—there was a possibility that it might actually help him.

Killian walked to the café and immediately knew who he was supposed to meet with. The poor man still had a bandage on his forehead, surrounded by purple bruises, and was staring at the cup across from him while nursing his own. Killian cautiously walked up the aisle and paused at the man's table. "Hello," he cleared his throat. "Would you happen to—I mean, are you Milah's husband?"

"I used to be…" he trailed off, still lost in thought. Regaining his senses he looked at Killian apologetically, "Where are my manners. I'm Brandon, it's good to meet you…?" he extended his hand.

"Killian. Nice to meet you, too," giving him a proper shake then trying to escape Brandon's grip. Brandon held onto his hand though, a spark of recognition in his eyes and a smile creeping onto his face as if he had heard something magnificent.

"You're not just a friend of Milah's… You're her Killian," he said incredulously. "Sorry!" finally letting go of Killian's hand.

Killian sat down slowly. This whole ordeal had just become interesting. He still wasn't even sure if it was worth having at all, but his curiosity won out.

"Milah had told me so much about you. You two practically saw the world together," Brandon said with wonderment in his eyes and his lips quirked into a smile. This made Killian all the more curious. He didn't seem to be Milah's typical catch—he was more naïve, trusting, friendly… _Safe._

"Yes, we traveled for some time." Did this man know how Milah had crushed his heart all those years ago? Granted even with Killian's revelations, she still abandoned him—she still gave up on him, and it still stung when he thought of it. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"I'm sorry for yours, too. I know how close you were," Brandon's smile disappearing, losing himself in thought again. Silence pursued for a good while before Killian broke it.

"I'll just get straight to it. What was she doing here?"

"To see if we could find you, of course." Killian was taken aback by how accepting Brandon was being about the situation. "You know, she felt so guilty for leaving you like she did. I selfish and kind of pushed her to reach out. I'm sorry—don't take it the wrong way, but I just wanted us to move forward. It's hard competing with the past. I think I pushed her too hard though. I didn't even know she drank. In all the years we'd been married, she never even had a sip of wine."

"Years? You were married for _years?_" Killian couldn't believe what was going on.

"Yeah… Three years in a month from now." Brandon looked him in the eye, "Killian, I know you have questions and I'm going to answer all of them. It's what Milah would have wanted and it's the only thing I can do to atone for letting her…"

This Brandon fool was so calm for someone who'd lost his wife, but then again, everyone grieves in their own way.

Not everyone resorted to denial like he did.

"How'd you two meet?" Killian asked, trying to mask his disbelief. Either he succeeded or Brandon really was too good to assume the worst in Killian because he answered in a wistful voice,

"She was the receptionist at the firm. It took me a while to convince her to go on a date, but," he laughed at the memory, "eventually she said yes and well, things just turned into a fairy tale from there." A little smile brightening up his face again for just an instance, Brandon lowered his eyes and Killian felt a wash of guilt.

He knew that look. That was the look of a man who was lost, maybe still numb to everything. Brandon had just lost his wife and here he was sitting across from her ex, so willing to provide _Killian_ with anything that might help him through this time.

He let down his guard. This man wasn't a threat. He was someone who lost someone he loved. Killian was reminded of Emma—how she pushed him to confront his demons. Brandon pushed Milah to confront hers, so they could move on, too, but unfortunately, they weren't as lucky.

"Well," Killian started off, "it's hard to imagine her working in an office," that earned him a smile from Brandon, "but, uh, you're a special man to have gotten her to settle down, and I see why. You have quite a strength about you—to be sitting here with me so soon after… You're a good man. Milah would be proud."

Brandon looked up at Killian with light in his eyes, "That means a lot coming from someone who probably knew her better than most." He grinned at Killian's compliments and Killian couldn't help but smile along with him.

That's when he realized that he did know Milah. He understood Milah even though they had so many disconnected years between them. They had a bond, an understanding that even her husband had respected. This whole time he was looking for answers, but all the answers he needed were already with him.

Brandon and Killian went through two more rounds of coffee—sharing stories and bonding over Milah's quirks. This situation had been painful for the both of them, but for a brief moment, Killian afforded Brandon some happiness in these dark times and Killian marveled at the genuinely good-hearted person that Milah had fallen in love with.

When they parted ways, they were two men who both loved Milah in different ways, and had it been any other man aside from Brandon, Killian was sure it wouldn't have been on good terms.

He walked down the old familiar street of his youth and wandered for a bit. He took sight of a small flower shop, its sign just as weathered as the owner who greeted him with a nod of her head before disappearing into the back.

He instantly went to their display and picked out a simple bouquet of blue flowers and a single orange colored rose. He remembered it had always been Milah's favorite. They had a zest of adventure and enthusiasm just as she had. He paid the woman and exited with a smile. Graham didn't need to come with him on this one. For this, he needed to be alone.

The cemetery dated back to the town's forefathers. There was an uneven array of tombstones and plaques—some crumbling, some polished; some tall, others inches above the ground. Withered flowers were littered amongst them. The sight of all that decay in a place of death made Killian sad for all the lost loved ones, their families, and the forgotten.

He took the path that he had taken so many times as a young boy—straight to his mother's grave, but she wasn't alone anymore. In the plot next to her was his father's. Killian placed the bouquet on his mother's grave. "I know your favorite color was always blue," he knelt down. This was all too familiar. How many nights had Graham dragged him out of the graveyard drunk as hell? How many days had he skipped school to talk to a rock with his mother's name on it?

"And for you," he turned to his father's marker, "brought you this, old man." He fished out a flask from his jacket pocket and propped it up against the granite.

Killian sat down, a son between his parents' graves, tilted his head back and took in a deep breath, staring up at the gray sky. "I'm sorry I haven't been around exactly. Guess you can say I've been busy," he smirked, "I've met someone. You would've loved her. She's a lot like you, mom—a tough lass. Stubborn as hell, too, but she's good to me. I don't know what I'd do without her," he glanced at his father's tombstone.

"Probably what you did, old man," he said flatly. "I see it now. It's so easy to lose yourself over someone you love. I don't know if I forgive you, but I understand it."

Killian started to feel choked up, his voice cracking a bit, "I wish you were here to see me, mom. I think you'd be proud at who I've become. She's helped made me this way. Emma is her name. I think I'm going to make her a Jones someday. Children running about. That's the plan anyway; you ladies usually have your own agenda that we have to abide by." He gave out a small laugh, trying to shake off the grief.

"I don't know if I'm ever going to come back here… I don't know if I want to. Every time I do, it's always for death, and I just don't want to do this anymore, but I want you two to know that I still love you. You're not forgotten." He pressed a kiss to his fingertips and laid it on his mother's name. To his father he nodded and patted the top of the stone as he walked away.

Searching for Milah's grave wasn't very hard. The dirt was still turned and grass was sparse on the rectangular space. It was just as horrible as he thought it would be. He envisioned her lying underneath his feet in a stuffy casket. Dark, dank, and trapped. The Milah he'd known would have rather been buried at sea where excitement was always in abundance or turned to ash so she could forever fly in the winds, but that was the old her.

The new Milah was a married woman with a steady job and doting husband. Their life was probably simple and she had probably slowed down—no longer haunted by whatever had always plagued her. He knelt into the dirt, twirling the rose stem in his fingers.

"I was angry at you for so long." The wind rustled through the trees, leaves rattling around him as he tried to pick out his next words. "And I'm also sorry that things between us went the way they did. You were a friend to me and now, well, now I've lost that friend forever."

He looked up, a smile playing on his lips, "So I met Brandon." His mouth parted as he searched for the right words, "He's, uh, not what I expected." He started laughing as if he and Milah had just shared in some private joke. "He's a good man though and I'm sure he was good to you."

His voice grew serious again, "I have to let you go, Milah." His eyes cast down at the folds of the orange rose. "I can't keep carting you along for the ride anymore and I hope that you're at peace now and not still doing the same."

He placed a hand on her tombstone, examining the name carved into it—like it was some sort of gimmick, but, no, it was real. This all was real.

"Things went well for us, though. We both found good people to love us the way we needed to be, but I am sorry, Milah. I'm sorry we never got a proper goodbye." He laid the rose down next to the white arrangement of flowers in front of her marker.

"It was a pleasure knowing you, Milah," he nodded and turned to walk away—leaving all the weight he felt at the cemetery gates. His only plan now was to go back, be berated by Graham for disappearing, and get some sleep. Hopefully he'd be back in Storybrooke in Emma's arms in the next couple of days.

::::::::::::::::::

The sound of thunder crashed through the building. The windows threatened to break from the wild winds while rain poured down in sheets over the little town. People kept calling in flooded roads and more fender benders than imaginable_. _

'_They really should have everyone on lock down for the night,'_ Emma thought. It was a dangerous night to be out, let alone driving, but she took out her car keys and readied her umbrella. The yellow umbrella sprung to action as she fought the wind while crossing the street. _'Only a few more feet until you're in the nice cozy car, Emma.'_ A gust of wind ripped down Main Street and stole her umbrella, sending it rolling. She chased after it, her phone slipping from her pocket and landing with a crash on the ground.

::::::::::::::::

Jefferson flirted with his latest conquest, the visiting step-sister of Ashley Boyd. With a smug expression, he looked back to the road. The storm was a blessing—it meant that he and his date would have to take their party indoors; to his place, to be exact. His date rested her hand on his leg.

"You really shouldn't tease a man while he's driving," he said, turning to see her mischievous smile.

He rounded the corner, watching as her hand moved slowly up his thigh.

It was so fast.

There wasn't enough time to react.

There was nothing that he could do.

Once out of the car, his hands shook tremendously; it was a wonder how he even managed to dial 9-1-1.

"Please state your emergency."

"Please, you have to send an ambulance. She's unconscious—she's hurt really bad. We're on Main Street across from the Sheriff's station. I—I hit her… I hit her."

"Jefferson—do you know her?" the vapid step-sister asked without real concern.

His face contorted in fear and panic. "Oh god," pulling at tufts of his hair.

The step-sister, bored of his hysterics and removed from the critical situation they were in, pressed on jealously, "She's not even that pretty, huh?"

Jefferson shot her a dark look and shouted, "Yes I know her. She's—" Thunder shook the town again, the sound of all the triggered car alarms nearly drowned out the ambulance's siren coming down the street.

::::::::::::::::

It was early in the morning for Killian, meaning it was time to lull his Emma to sleep. He scrolled to her name and the picture he'd taken of her driving, smiling with her hair flying about, graced his screen.

It kept on ringing. Maybe she was driving home still. He washed up, got dressed, and came back to his phone and called again. It went to voicemail. He decided to give her one last chance before he'd call her father to run over to the house or station to check on her.

It kept ringing and ringing until finally—

it went to voicemail again.

**A/N: Some of you are probably freaking out right now, but I just want to give you a cryptic tidbit of hope: That umbrella was the best thing to happen to Emma. *flies off into the night* Review?**


	17. Proposal

**A/N: I was going to wait until tomorrow, but I decided to just edit tonight because I didn't want to torture everyone who's waiting!**

**This chapter was so much fun to write *evil laugh* No, but seriously, I'm not that heartless. Everything happens for a reason here. Let's see, oh yeah, some Frankenwolf going on! I hope you all enjoy it! **

**Chapter 17: Proposal**

Killian wasn't taking any chances, he called David Nolan immediately.

"Killian."

"Hi, Emma's not answering her phone. Do you know if she's home?"

"No, I just got back from there. The lights were off and no car." Mary Margaret shouted something undistinguishable. "_What?_"David asked into the background. "Killian, I have to go. There's been an accident in front of the station."

"What? What accident? Is Emma alright?" Killian practically screamed into the phone.

"I don't know! I'll call you when I get there," David hung up.

Killian was wide awake now—sheer horror on his face.

"What's wrong man?" Graham stretched still half-asleep.

"We need to leave _now_," Killian barked, rushing to pack his things.

"Whoa, whoa, what's going on?"

"I don't know! _I don't know_ what's going on because we're on the other bloody side of the damn Atlantic. Pack your bags or I'm leaving without you."

"Is it Emma? Is she okay?"

"Like I said, I don't know, Graham. Just pack your things. We need to get on the next flight out."

Killian tried her phone again. _'Hi, this is Sheriff Swan. Please leave a message after the—'_

"Emma, it's me. I've been trying to call you. Please call me back when you get this. I'm heading to the airport now. I'm on my way home… I love you," he hung up.

Minutes later his phone rang, but his relief washed away as soon as he saw that it wasn't Emma calling him, but David.

"What's going on?" Killian closed his eyes in concentration.

"Emma's in the ambulance on her way to the hospital," David said shakily, adrenaline still rushing through him. "I just found her phone. It was lying in the street."

For a second, Killian's world came crashing down around him and he was terrified of opening his eyes. "Is she okay?" he croaked, dreading the answer. Emma was his light and he had made a silent vow to himself to make sure no one would try to snuff her out, but here he was—miles away from her because of his past _again_. When it all came down to it, nothing and no one mattered more.

"She's fine. Jefferson hit Ruby Lucas and Emma wasn't too far away from the crash, but she's okay, Killian. She's alright," David let out a deep breath to calm his own nerves. If it was one thing these two very different men had in common, it was their love for Emma. "Ruby's in critical care, but knowing Dr. Whale, he's going to make sure she gets through this."

"Christ," Killian swallowed. "I'll be on the next flight in still."

"Yeah, good luck with that. There's been a storm here for the last few days."

"Mr. Nolan… Thank you."

"Just get back here. My daughter misses you," David said curtly and hung up on Killian without so much as a goodbye.

:::::::::::::

Ruby lay motionless while Dr. Whale guided the paramedics into the hospital. Emma kept up with the pace until they met the double doors in the emergency room.

"Sheriff, she'll be okay. I'm going to see to it that she's okay," he said with more than just concern in his eyes. Emma could see it, the truth and sincerity in his words, so she nodded and let them go without her.

She was soaked head to toe, dripping water all over the place. She sat down and stared back out into the raging storm outside. If it hadn't of been for that stupid umbrella, she would have been struck, too. Be it fate or god, something had saved her, but this near brush with death raised goosebumps on her skin.

She felt horrible for not springing to action. It was her job as sheriff to keep these people safe, but it was all so fast. Jefferson had rounded that corner in a flash and she was too far away by then. Ruby practically came out of nowhere.

"Damnit, Ruby. Stupid wannabe creature of the night bullshit," she cursed under her breath knowing that Ruby loved to walk in the moonlight. She said it made her feel otherworldly, like she was more than just this town, the world, and its rules, but now, here she was, in the hospital relying on its practices to help her through. Emma didn't want to lose her friend and shuddered at the thought.

'_Dr. Whale will take care of her. She'll make it through, I know it.'_

:::::::::::::

Killian and Graham were almost there. They'd spent five hours already flying and would be back in Storybrooke in less than two. Killian closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift back to Emma. He thought about everything they had overcome together—all the ups and downs, tears and kisses—and how easily it had almost ended. He was still shaken up by the whole ordeal and though he silently prayed for Ruby's recovery, Emma was still his priority and he'd be damned if that ever changed.

"Makes you think, huh?"

"What's that, Graham? I'm so glad you've discovered your brain and all the possibilities it possesses," Killian jabbed, eyes still closed.

"Very funny. Everything—with Milah, Ruby, and Emma—makes you think about how fragile we are," Graham said deeply. Killian opened his eyes and saw Graham's brow furrowed.

"What's wrong, mate?"

"Nothing… I just, I don't know. It's just scary to think that someone can be there one day and gone the next." He let out a deep breath and flexed his hands. "This whole thing has just made me see that I can't take life for granted. I shouldn't waste any time," he smiled. "I'm babbling, it's stuffy in here and I think I'm delirious from the plane ride."

"No… You're absolutely right. How do you do that? Just spout off about the meaning of life out of nowhere. It almost makes me think you're smarter than you look," Killian jested. "Almost."

Graham just smiled and shrugged. He had a point though; life was too short and too valuable to be wasted away. He had already wasted so much of it. Killian reminded himself of the time when Emma wasn't in his life; how bleak everything had seemed. The days blended together in a constant rotation of work, home, work, home until Emma came along. She set things in motion and all his growth and progress just seemed to go on so quickly from there.

He closed his eyes again hoping that sleep would take over for the last couple of hours.

:::::::::::::::

When they landed, he had fully prepared to take a taxi, but there stood Emma, shoulders tense from the icy wind while she took shelter from the rain. Killian nearly dropped his things to run to her. She was more striking than he had remembered and he realized as he neared her that he felt like he was home. He had a home and it was with Emma.

"Hey you," she said, a smile creeping onto her face.

"You," he embraced her in a tight hug, "are never leaving my side again." He raised his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her into a searing kiss.

"Wow, all that's missing is the dramatic music, am I right?" Graham joked, taking in the sight of the couple and rainfall behind them.

"Hey Graham," Emma smiled then rested her head against Killian's shoulder. Sure she had talked to him every day, but holding him like this in her arms was the real thing, not just a voice coming from a phone. She closed her eyes thinking about how this all could have been destroyed if she was on that corner. Emma grabbed his hand and released herself from their hug. "Come on, guys. It's too cold out here."

They piled into the car and started to drive back to Storybrooke.

"So any news so far? Is she alright?"

"Yeah, they stabilized her, but she's still unconscious. Dr. Whale doesn't think it's a coma, but let's just say that he's not the most objective right now," the corner of Emma's mouth twitched up, but she fought the smile.

"Because it's Ruby. I knew he always had a thing for her. All those times he came into Granny's for lunch—I mean, Granny's is pretty out of the way from the hospital," Graham said.

"But don't we all go out of the way for love," Killian winked at Emma. "Under his care, she'll be okay," grabbing for Emma's free hand.

They all chattered away until they arrived back to Storybrooke—the weather just as bad as when Emma had left. Graham shouted bye and a thanks as he high-tailed it into his house. Emma and Killian sat in silence the rest of the way, running into their house as well. They shook off the drops clinging to their coats and she made her way to the fireplace. Killian took off his scarf and gloves slowly and watched Emma light a fire.

It felt so wonderful to be home. It was like being underwater for so long and Emma was that first blissful breath of fresh air. He looked around their home and felt all the tension he had been holding slip away. He was home now, with his girlfriend, and fully intent on enjoying that fire by her side.

Hours must have passed by. They still hadn't said a word, letting their eyes and smiles do the talking. They were just enjoying the feel of each other, the heat of their bodies pressed against each other under the heavy down blanket. They listened to the fire crackle in their comfortable silence while Killian buried his face into her hair.

"Killian," Emma finally voiced out.

"Hm?" Killian was on the verge of falling asleep. It was all so comfortable, so warm, and so safe. She smelled intoxicatingly like springtime, mild jasmine and honeysuckle. After being away, he allowed himself to be lost in her scent and touch. He almost didn't hear her soft voice.

"I don't think I've ever been this happy," she said. There was no smile on her face, just the look of pensiveness and realization. As Killian processed her words, he smiled and whispered back,

"You're _it_ for me, Emma."

She was still in a daze, but, at his declaration, relaxed into his body. She adjusted her grip on his arm and they held each other throughout the night.

::::::::::::::::

It took some time, but Ruby had made a miraculous recovery. She had a broken arm and leg that were healing cleanly and quickly, but it was still a wonder that she hadn't broken more.

Ruby was a tough woman who used her humor and smiles to cover up the fact that she was scared and still traumatized by the accident. Dr. Whale was the only person she had confided in and from there their bond grew stronger. Every break he had, he spent it with Ruby. Every day he had off, he visited her. Not a day went by when he wasn't there. Eventually, he became 'Victor' instead of 'Dr. Whale' in Ruby's eyes.

They spent their night's talking about everything, the conversation never ceasing. He even told her about losing his brother and the guilt he couldn't seem to shake off for not being able to do more.

"This isn't Frankenstein, Victor. You can't bring people back, but you can keep their memory alive. You can honor it and you do! You do every day! Your Storybrooke's most qualified doctor. He'd be proud of you, I know it."

"I feel like a monster. If only I had gotten to him on time. It's like everything with my brother makes it hard to live as everyone else does. I don't feel like I belong when I'm with other people. Like, I just can't integrate into that world. I'm an outsider."

"I'm the one who's a monster. I nearly gave my grams a heart attack when I rushed out of there. I was just so mad… She shouted at me, 'You'll catch your death in this storm!' And I had thought to myself, 'Maybe I want to, maybe it'll teach you' and then bam," she snapped her fingers, "hit by a car."

They stared at each other for a long moment before breaking out into laughter. It was such an inappropriate thing to laugh at, but that's why Ruby was starting to love Victor. He understood when she was really joking or when it was just a front.

"So I guess we can be monsters together," she ventured, waiting to see how he'd react.

"I'd like that very much," he looked at her like she was the only person in the world.

Ruby glanced down at his lips then back into his eyes before she leaned forward only to be caught by the wires hooked up to her and the sling her leg rested in. It broke the intensity of their moment as she tried to lean forward again and again and again. In frustration she turned to him and said, "Can you help a girl out and meet me half way?"

Victor looked at her, paralyzed that he hadn't just imagined their attraction; their connection to each other was real.

"Victor!" she broke him from his thoughts. "Just kiss me already," she grabbed him by his shirt and kissed him hard.

Ruby's heart had nearly stopped, but Victor brought it back to life. Months from then, they'd take strolls in the moonlight together, walking around the empty town as if it were their own.

Ruby and Victor weren't the only happy couple in town though. Emma and Killian were downright madly in love. It had been months since Killian had come to terms with his past and tonight they celebrated their one year anniversary.

"You know I'm not really the celebratory type," Emma groaned from her room. Mary Margaret was perched on a stool, waiting for her daughter to come out to show her yet another dress.

"Yes you are. You just don't know it yet. Besides, how self-centered of you to think that this has anything to do with _your_ happiness," she said with obvious sarcasm. "It's not your day, it's my day."

Emma's laughter rang from her room. She felt like she was going to the prom, another milestone she had missed in foster care. Sighing at her reflection in the mirror, she smoothed out the dress and walked into the living room. After countless dresses, they had found it.

"Oh, Emma," Mary Margaret's eyes teared. She lifted her hand to her mouth and sat there staring at her daughter in awe.

"It's good then?" Emma was still unsure. Yeah, she'd been on dates before, but this was supposed to be really special, as Killian had been stressing all month long.

"You're beautiful! He's going to die when he sees you in that. The green brings out—your eyes and your hair is—just—just—so damn beautiful," Mary Margaret choked out between sobs.

"Mom! You just said, 'damn!'" Emma laughed.

"The situation warrants it," she cleaned up her eyes and sniffled a few times.

"So, you're really not going to tell me where he's taking me?"

"All I can say is to bring a light jacket and be thankful that tonight's humid."

"So it's outside then," Emma smirked.

"No! Uh, I didn't say—stop that!" Mary Margaret pointed a finger at her, eyelashes still wet from her crying.

Emma returned to her mirror and looked at her dress again. Killian had been sneaking around all month; making phone calls while she was in the shower, disappearing during the weekend, and bribing Graham to switch days with Emma at work. Whatever it was, it was going to be big, no doubt. She had been victim to Killian's grand gestures before, but now that she was a willing participant and he was in his right mind with the right intentions, she knew for sure that it would be something she'd never forget.

He drove up to the house in the early evening after getting everything settled for their anniversary. The night was creeping into the sky and the shadows threatened to take over whatever light was in their path, that is, except for Emma. She gleamed in the green dress—a light that would shine just as bright in the darkness. With her curls pinned back, she showed her full face—no hiding. Killian stepped from the car and his eyes grew wide, mouth parted.

"So… Is this okay for whatever you have planned?" she tilted her head down in embarrassment, gazing back up at him through her long lashes.

"You're a vision," he said entranced. He came to her, took her hand in his and kissed it.

"What a gentleman," Emma smirked.

"Yes, well, we'll have to see how long that'll last. You're making it rather difficult, I must say," giving her a wink.

"You're ridiculous."

"I can't help that I'm adorably charming."

"Not sure is charming is the word," she smiled playfully.

He turned to her, pulling her body against his. "You're absolutely right," he ran a hand along her bare arm, sending shivers down her spine. "I'm no prince," he gave her a long sensual kiss. "Perhaps we should be on our way before I decide to cancel the whole evening and go back inside?"

Emma's head was still spinning from his lips on hers. She opened her eyes to a smug Killian tugging her gently to the car.

:::::::::::::::

They drove to a harbor not far outside of town. The sun still hung over the sea and the clouds glowed pink and orange. The humid air felt wonderful against Emma's skin and the scent of the sea soothed her nervousness away. She couldn't help it. She'd never celebrated anything before, not even her birthday. She felt like the luckiest woman in the world and they hadn't even reached their destination yet.

Her heels clanked against the wood of the old dock. Where were they going exactly? A boat ride? Why have her dress like she was going to a gala? Unless this was a ploy by her mother, but it didn't seem likely; Killian had enlisted the help of Mary Margaret with clear instructions. She conjured up different scenarios to see if one would stick, but nothing came to mind aside from taking a boat ride.

She was right… Partially.

It wasn't a boat.

It was a grand ship.

The main mast so high she had to tilt her head back all the way. White sails billowed gently with the sea breeze. With ropes strung in all directions and the woodwork so intricately laid, the word 'grand' didn't do it justice. The ship was magnificent and Emma was awestruck.

"Wait—what—are we—it's a ship," she trampled over her words.

"Yes, that is a ship. Yes, we are going on said ship. Yes, we will be sailing with the help of our dear friend Geoffrey and his crew," he waved to the smiling old man.

"How did you do this?" Her eyes were wide, mouthing hanging open, not knowing what to say or if this was all real.

"Easy, really. You see Geoffrey up there has a soft spot for young love. Don't you, Geoffrey?" Killian called again. Geoffrey nodded from the helm and gestured for them to board.

"Killian, this is too much," Emma was overwhelmed by it all. He was taking her on a _ship_ with lanterns strung everywhere and a table for two right in the middle of it all.

She tripped practically the whole way as she took in the beautiful ship in all its glory, so Killian gripped her by the waist to help steady her.

"After you, love," he led her to the table and pulled out her chair.

She couldn't help but grin now. She couldn't control it, but the more she tried to cover it up, the harder the smile pressed into her cheeks. The sails swelled as they left the harbor.

"So, you like it?" Killian asked.

"Are you kidding me?" Emma exclaimed. "How could I not? We're on a ship!"

"Good, I'm glad because here comes dinner."

They ate and drank, Emma still not over the marvel that this ship was.

"You know," his voice growing distant, "when I was a lad my mom used to take me to watch the sunset. When it would touch the water, she'd ask, 'Do you hear it, Killian? Do you hear the sun sizzling?'"

Emma liked to hear about Killian's childhood because, even if it was brief, he had happy memories to cling to.

"And, I always say yes. That's what made it so magical though; to think that the sun was going to sleep in the ocean and burst back to life in the day. It's a shame you can't see it on this side of the coast."

"Killian." He turned his head back to her. She was glowing in the light. Her hair captured the orange rays coming from the setting sun and her eyes sparkled with the light of the lanterns. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, my dear." He rose from his seat and cued one of the staff. Music echoed throughout the deck making it all seem that much more unreal. Standing before her with his hand out he asked, "May I have this dance, Miss Swan?"

"_Of course, love_," she tried on his accent. Now anchored, Geoffrey smiled again at the young couple and wrapped his arm around his own wife and headed below deck with the others to give them some privacy.

He pulled her against him and lowered his lips to her ear, "Keep that up and we'll just see how much rocking this ship can handle." Him and his flirtations; the worst part was that they always managed to get her flustered. She slapped his shoulder, but kept her face hidden as her cheeks grew pink.

"You're so corny."

They danced there until sky was a gradient of night and day. He twirled her to the music, always pulling her right back into his arms. They stared spellbound into each other's eyes as they danced around the deck.

Finally they paused and Killian went to retrieve the small blue box from the table. He came back to Emma; head lowered at the box and then looked up at her in that way that made her knees weak.

"I have something very important to ask of you Emma."

:::::::::::::::::::

Ruby and Victor had their own romantic night out, though not as grand as a ship in the midst of a sunset. They laughed between bites and gave playful shoves. Victor stared back in disbelief that this wonderful, striking, and wise woman wanted him. Ruby was very much a part of his life now and he in hers. Right when his hand started to fumble in his pocket, she said,

"You know, I was thinking…" Ruby's gaze fell as she tried to explain her theory, "that if I hadn't gotten into that accident, we wouldn't have this." She reached for his hand and smoothed over it with her thumb. "Seriously though, in a way, I guess it was good that it happened."

"Aside from the broken bones and scaring me half to death? Oh yeah, those are definitely the right words for that," he said sarcastically with smiling eyes.

"No, but I'm serious!" Ruby laughed. "Who knows if we would have ever gotten the chance to get to know each other? I say it's fate."

"Ruby, I'm a man of science. We don't believe in fate or destiny or magic."

Ruby looked a little crestfallen at his words.

"But… If there is such a thing, then, yes, I think it was my destiny to be with you." He used that as his window of opportunity.

In a room full of people, this couple's love story blossomed, and even from across the room, Ruby's smile and wide eyes were so bright with happiness it was a wonder that others weren't blinded.

::::::::::::::::::

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, why would you even ask that?" Emma retorted.

"Because it'll be a big ordeal and, well… It's me. I don't have much experience with these things."

"Killian, I love you, and we're doing this; we have to do this. We'll go and smile and point and eventually there'll be cake and flowers everywhere. It'll be beautiful no matter what. Now, no worrying. I mean, you can't exactly back out now. The invitations were already sent," she laughed.

"Just wanted to make sure, love."

"Oh, stop it. Now come on. There won't _be_ a wedding if we don't get out of bed."

He sighed, "You're right… Or we can pretend it's _our_ honeymoon. What do the newly married do? That's right," he kissed his way up her neck. "They stay in bed all day doing more enjoyable activities than sitting there trying to decide what color the napkins should be."

"You're unbelievable. Hate to break it to you, but traditionally the honeymoon is after the wedding. Now come on!" She pushed him near the edge of the bed.

"But I don't want to," he whined.

"Aw, poor Killian," she feigned concern, scooting towards the edge of the bed. He pouted and looked at her with puppy dog eyes. "Too bad. Now get up."

"Fine!" he stood up, "Have it your way then." Then a glimmer of mischief entered his eyes. He leaned back down, his arms on either side of her his hot breath on her lips. Emma parted her lips and stared back at him, falling into his trap. "I can assure you," he leaned closer so their lips were barely touching, "it would have been much more _satisfying_ than cake tasting."

Her voice wavered as she caved, "I said we had to get up out of bed. Join me for a shower?"

"As I've said before, whatever the lady wants, she'll have."

Emma let out a yelp of surprise as he picked her up and started walking towards the bathroom.

"Bloody wedding planning," he said before kicking the door closed behind them.

**A/N: "A wedding, a wedding, we're going to have a wedding!" Sorry, Corpse Bride song—know it? Yes, yes? *silence pursues* Okay.**

**Please review!**


	18. Drizella

**A/N: Just setting the stage, dearies. Just setting the stage… Happy reading!**

**Chapter 18: Drizella**

Emma and Killian both dressed to meet Victor and Ruby. She glanced down at the blue box Killian had given to her on their anniversary. It was an antique pendant set with a diamond that belonged to his mother and her mother before that. Passed down through the generations, it now was in Emma's possession, hanging from her neck on a silver chain. She played back that night on the ship; absent-mindedly fidgeting with the antique jewel.

At first she was stunned and didn't know how to answer him.

'_I have something very important to ask of you Emma. This has been passed down in my family for years.' He opened the box and lifted the necklace out. 'And I hope you will wear it for me as all the women in the Jones family have.'_

'_But, Killian, I'm not a Jones,' he circled her and brought the pendant down. It was so uniquely beautiful. It was clear that someone had put a lot of care, love, and a dedication to beauty in crafting it. "Wow. I don't know if I can accept something like this. It's too important.' The pendant dragged up against her skin as he gently pulled the chain back._

'_You're important to me Emma, and if it bothers you so much that you're not a Jones… Well, just think of it as a promise.'_

'_What kind of promise?' Her eyes grew wide as he fastened it and wrapped his arms from behind her, swaying to the music still playing._

'_A promise that I'll always be yours,' he murmured against her neck before laying light kisses on her sweet spot, the one that always made her eyelashes flutter closed._

She and Killian had only officially been together a year and here he was, entrusting her with a family heirloom.

This was a big step in their relationship, and in light of certain circumstances, she wondered if one day she would be in Ruby's position, too.

Ruby Lucas was soon to be Mrs. Whale.

When Emma and Killian had returned to the docks, exchanging flirtatious glances, her phone, out of range before, started to receive an onslaught of text messages and voicemails.

'_Emma, where are you?' 'Why are you not answering!' 'Check your voicemail, girl!'_ So she did and nearly went deaf from Ruby's excited scream.

'_Emma! I just realized you're on a date, so sorry if I was interrupting, but I have news! Big news! Get ready for it… I'm getting married! Me, I'm getting married! Call me back damnit!'_

"Oh my god." Emma couldn't believe it. Ruby and Victor had been seeing each other for a little _less than half_ of the time that Emma and Killian had been together, and already they were taking that giant leap into matrimony.

'_I guess that's what some people need for a happy ending,' _she thought.

"What? Is she being murdered or something? Sounded like a lot of screaming."

"Worse, she's getting married," Emma joked.

"Wow," Killian looked taken aback by this. Emma was glad that they seemed to be on the same page as far as the marriage topic was concerned. She didn't need any more diamonds to wear.

So now here they were, him still fussing about not knowing how to be a proper best man and her still staring at her reflection—the diamond shining from her neck. She regained herself and cleared her throat,

"Ready to go? You know Ruby won't make any decisions until we get there."

"I still vote that we keep playing pretend that it's our honeymoon."

"A diamond ring is a little different from a diamond necklace."

"It looks gorgeous on you. It belongs with you," he said sincerely.

"Are you sure you still want to trust me with this?" she questioned.

"You're still asking me that after two months?"

"It belonged to your family and…" Emma trailed off.

"You're my family now, Emma. Ring or not." His gaze so intense that it made Emma shudder and for a second she considered staying home and playing pretend that it was their honeymoon, too.

"Come on. Time to get this over with," she said before her desire to stay took over.

"I still don't want to though," he whined again, falling back onto the couch.

"Like I said before, get over it. Let's move," then dragging him out the door by his vest. "Thank you for doing this. I know you and Victor aren't exactly—"

"Victor is a good man," he cut her off. "He doesn't have any family left. I know how that feels. Besides, I consider him a friend. With all those god awful couples outings you and Ruby drag us to, we've formed an alliance."

"Yeah, right. An alliance to alcohol."

"Whatever makes the time pass quicker, darling." He received a poignant look from Emma while she confessed,

"I don't know what I'm doing either, Killian. Before Ruby, I didn't even have friends—let alone anyone wanting me to be their maid of honor. Trust me, making seating charts is that last thing I'd ever want to do."

"Duly noted. I guess that bit will be left to me then," he sighed, getting up from the couch and giving her a quick peck on the cheek. "Alright, lass, time to go."

Emma didn't follow; she was too busy listening to the echo of his comment in her head. _'That bit will be left to him? What?'_

:::::::::::::::::::

"Emma!" Ruby ran to her, arms outstretched for a giant hug that almost knocked her over. Ruby's engagement ring was just so befitting—a band with a ruby on it encrusted with diamonds. Emma didn't really care for these kinds of things, but she had to admit that it looked right on Ruby. It looked like it belonged; like how Killian had said that the necklace belonged on her.

"Hey, Killian," Victor gave him a pat on the shoulder. Victor didn't have many friends in Storybrooke, so as Emma was to be the maid of honor, Killian graciously accepted the position of best man. Victor Whale wasn't such a bad guy and had Killian known this, they probably would have been friends years ago. They seemed to be both on the same wavelength as their eyes widened at each other in horror of the preparations to come.

"Stop acting like this is painful. You knew perfectly well what was going to happen after you pulled that proposal out of your pocket."

"It was so hard to do it, too," he glanced at Killian. "She kept talking every time I tried to broach the subject."

"Well, let's get to it," Emma said, raising her eyebrows at Killian betraying her pleasant façade for just a moment. Emma definitely wasn't looking forward to this either.

For hours they pored over tablecloths and flower arrangements while sampling some of the best cakes and wine they'd ever had. The boys, of course, drank their fair share of it and by the end of the evening they were absolutely useless.

"Let's do like a renaissance theme," Victor proposed, downing the rest of his glass.

"No," and irritated Ruby replied. They had nearly worked out all of the arrangements for the reception and wedding itself except for one detail—did they want to go with a band or a DJ?

Back and forth, makings lists of potential people and bands for both until Emma couldn't stand it anymore. It was clear what Ruby wanted, but her indecisiveness was wearing out Emma's patience.

"Ruby," Emma begged, exhausted herself from being bombarded with choices. "Just go with the band. I know you want to. Why are you trying to talk yourself out of it?"

She stared long and hard at Emma before saying, "You're right. I want the band. Honey, you okay with having a band?"

"Just say what I always say, mate. 'Whatever the lady wants,'" he said with a slight slur in his voice.

"Hey!" Emma whacked his arm in which Killian mouthed a dramatic and silent, 'Ow,' at her.

"Well, that's that then. Everything's settled. All that's left are some phone calls, but I think we're pretty much done," Ruby smiled.

"You feel better now?" Emma said in relief.

"_Loads _better. I feel lighter now. Oh, but we still need to have a girls' day so we can pick out bridesmaids dresses."

Emma smiled politely, but she was not looking forward to another day of wedding planning with the bride.

They said their goodbyes and Emma drove Killian home.

"I love you," Killian mumbled, eyes closed and slumped against the passenger side door.

"I love you, too, but I could've used some back up in there. Instead you and Victor jumped ship as soon as the wine tasting began."

"Sorry, darling. I'm sure," lifting his hand to rub small circles onto her arm, "I can find _some way_ to make it up to you," he said, peeking out at her from the corner of his eye.

She bit the inside of her cheek to hide the smile forming on her lips, and Killian smirked, smug as hell, knowing that his offer had been accepted.

They pulled up to the house and Killian stepped out and let out a sigh of relief. As Emma rounded the car, he caught her arm and pinned her, giving that smoldering look that, as much as she didn't want to admit it, forced her into a haze. His blues eyes lit up in the moonlight and in that brief moment, she would've done anything he'd asked; instead, he just gave her a chaste kiss and smiled at her.

"Come on, love. Time to cuddle," he picked her up.

"You don't like to cuddle."

"True, but I like what usually happens _after_ the cuddling." He let her down to open the door and once inside, she pushed _him_ up against the wall. Her lips attacked his neck and followed the line of his jaw.

"Or we could just skip the cuddling," she said, her voice husky and low. Killian swallowed at her tone. This woman was going to be the death of him and he was completely fine with it. Not wanting her to see just how vulnerable he was against her forwardness, he gave her his signature smirk and kissed her hard, eliciting a surprised gasp from Emma.

"Come on, then. I have some making up to do, remember?"

:::::::::::::::::::

Emma opened the glass door and spotted a couple of familiar faces. She could make out Belle, the town librarian who didn't get out too much, and Ashley, a true sweetheart whom Emma had gone out with before. Lastly there was a woman she hadn't met. This woman was pretty—dark eyes set against dark hair—but the permanent scowl and look of disgust on her face made her awfully unpleasant to look at.

Ruby met her at the entrance and whispered into her ear, "That's Drizella. Jefferson's new girl."

"Oh, that would explain why she's staring me down like she's going to eat me."

"She's the jealous type, but no worries. In all honesty, she's only a bridesmaid because her sister is."

The closer Ruby and Emma got to the group the more Drizella narrowed her black eyes. "Emma," Ruby put on a smile, "I think you already know Belle."

"Hi, Emma, it's nice to see you again," Belle said with a glassy turquoise stare. Emma couldn't help but feel like she was staring into her soul—like she could see every good and bad deed she'd ever done.

"And Ashley of course," Ruby continued.

"Hey, Emma," she smiled.

"Last, _but not least_," Ruby threw in there because she knew how Drizella always misinterpreted things, "Emma, meet Drizella. Drizella, this is Emma."

"Hi," Emma tried to be as friendly as possible, smiling and holding out her hand.

"Pleasure," was all Drizella said, looking at Emma's hand as if she were contagious.

"Right," she muttered under her breath and retracted her hand.

Emma stayed seated on the plush bench, waiting for the next person to come out in a new dress. She was perfectly fine just sitting there waiting for Ruby to decide on something; whatever it was, she'd wear it. She just wanted the bride to be happy, so she could go home.

"I remember you," Drizella said, sitting as far as she could from Emma on the bench.

"Have we met before?" Emma raised an eyebrow. She had long stopped caring about appeasing Drizella—she had concluded that Drizella was just incapable of feeling anything but spite or jealousy.

"You were there when we ran Ruby over." Emma was shocked at how blunt this woman had phrased the accident that almost _killed_ her best friend.

"Yeah." Emma was thoroughly annoyed now.

"I think that we should go with a darker colored dress," Drizella switched topics. "Ashley's always been the fatter one in the family."

"Wow. I didn't expect something like that from her sister," Emma narrowed her eyes back. No one could dislike Ashley—she was the perfect package of niceness and humility.

"_Step_-sister. Anastasia's my real sister, but she escaped this stupid small town."

"_Yeah_… Okay," Emma abruptly got up and walked back into the dressing room to be with the rest of the women. She didn't care if she was being rude to Drizella and in all honesty, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to control her temper anymore. Trying on dresses didn't seem that bad in comparison to the other alternative—the sheriff being locked in a cell for assault and battery.

Drizella shot down every dress presented to her, so Ruby ruled out her vote completely and narrowed it down to two dresses—the big blue, fluffy one on Ashley and the simple draped golden one on Belle.

"Hm… I can't decide. I guess this is where my maid of honor comes in, huh?" Ruby winked at Emma.

Drizella rolled her eyes dramatically in the background, and Emma ignored her, stepping forward to inspect the dresses.

"They're both really nice, but I think I'd have to pick the gold one. We don't want all the fluffiness to distract from your dress. The gold one is simple."

"Yes!" Belle let out uncharacteristically. "Sorry," she cleared her throat. "I just really love this color," she laughed. Everyone, except Drizella, joined in and the women parted ways after that. As Emma walked to her car, she tried to shake off anything remaining of Drizella's inner ugliness. _'Thank god I won't have to see her until the rehearsal dinner.'_

:::::::::::::::::::

Killian, on the other hand, was enjoying himself with the boys. Leroy wheezed as he struggled to tell the ending of a story that almost had them all on the floor laughing.

"Damnit, Leroy! I can't breathe, I can't breathe," Victor shouted out, clutching at his stomach. Jefferson was slumped against the wall trying to stay up to his best efforts. Killian held onto his chair for support, his face still scrunched up, and Graham, well, he was actually kneeling on the floor holding himself, too.

"Oh, that was a good one, mate," Killian said, still trying to fight off lingering laughs.

"I wonder if the girls are having this much fun," Graham stood up, still chuckling.

"Not if Drizella's there," Jefferson took a swig from his flask and returned it back into his jacket.

This resulted in more laughter and a long, _'Ooooh!'_ from Graham.

"Onto more pressing matters, boys," Victor composed himself and turned to Killian as if in interrogation. "So, Killian Jones, do you plan on taking a certain blonde sheriff off the market anytime soon?"

"Hey!" he said a little aggressively and looked around to the rest of the men, "she's already off the market and if I see any of you making a pass at her, no matter how stunningly beautiful she looks, I'll cut off your hand."

"He's deflecting," Victor smirked at the rest of them before returning back to Killian. "Seriously though, haven't you considered it?"

"Of course I have and I have every intention of it, but it's still early—_for us_," he threw in for Victor. "She still hesitates whenever I allude to it," he said with a half smile, "but I'll get her one day. Mark my words."

"That's great and all that you're not pressing it, but you might want to check to see if she _ever_ sees it happening," Jefferson baited.

"What do you mean?" Killian's tone deepening.

"I just think it would be good to know if you two are on the same page. She might be one of those women who just doesn't want that, period, but if things are well with you two, ignore me. Why fix something that's not broken?" Jefferson said with a smirk. He was clearly egging Killian on, but the seed had been planted and now it was going to grow and keep growing until he would act on it.

Killian kept it together for the next month or so, but it still stayed in his thoughts every time he'd wake up tangled with Emma. Sure, he didn't mind waiting. Traditionally that's what happened—you wait a few years then you propose, but he couldn't get Jefferson's words out of his head. What if she didn't want to?

He sighed deeply. Maybe he could casually bring it up at the rehearsal dinner tonight and hopefully she wouldn't change the subject or use humor to avoid answering it.

"Hey there," Emma was curled up into his chest with a smile on her face.

"Hey, beautiful," he smiled back and kissed her forehead. "We slept in today—might have to get up soon. Get ready and all that."

"_But I don't want to_," she mimicked his whiny childish tone.

"_Well, tough_," he mimicked back.

They both laughed and Killian thought to himself, did he really want to chance losing that smile in her eyes?

:::::::::::::::::::

Emma put on a simple blue dress and Killian a gray suit with a blue vest.

"Aw, are you trying to match with me?" she teased, pulling him closer to her. He couldn't help but grin at her and let out a breathy,

"Maybe," when he was close enough to her lips. "You know we're already running behind," he said as she ran her hand over his chest. "We better get to moving," his eyelashes fluttering down from her eyes to her roaming hand.

"In a minute," she pulled his lips to hers and without missing a beat he weaved his hand into her hair and pushed his lips harder against hers. They were starting to get out of hand when he pinned her up against the dresser. "Okay! Okay!" she laughed as he ravished her neck. Pulling back a second after, he gave her a gentler kiss.

"Don't want to forget this," he picked up the necklace, a smile gracing Emma's face. She loved how insistent he was on her wearing it—the promise that he was hers. "Alright, love, come on, make haste," he guided her out of the room and shut off the light.

Almost all of Storybrooke showed up to celebrate Ruby and Victor's engagement.

Drizella caught a glimpse of Emma walking in with a very attractive man and she turned to face them with wicked curiosity. _'So this is Emma's boyfriend,'_ Drizella thought. _'No wonder she's so uppity; she thinks she's hot shit because she's dating him. Well, we'll see how long that'll last.'_ She laughed inwardly and walked over to Jefferson who was greeting the couple.

With her best smile and brightening her eyes she wrapped her arm around Jefferson's and greeted him, "Hi, honey." It seemed so genuine and sweet, so not Drizella.

'_Like she got a personality transplant,'_ Emma thought, raising an eyebrow at the show.

"Emma, so nice to see you again, and I don't think we've been introduced," she flashed a smile at Killian. "I'm Drizella, so nice to meet you," and held out her hand. Killian being the gentleman he was shook it lightly and returned his back to Emma's almost immediately. Emma couldn't help but feel a little smug about it. As if a reminder of his loyalty, she felt the weight of the pendant and relaxed into his arm.

They made their way to their table—far away from Drizella, but not far enough from her stares. Killian whispered into her ear, "So _that's_ the dreaded Drizella?"

"How did you know?"

"Men talk, too. Jefferson's not that keen on her."

"Did you fall for her nice act?"

"Not for a second. Did you see the way Jefferson reacted? Like he'd seen a bloody ghost."

They laughed at how Jefferson's face had paled and his eyes grew wide; like Drizella was a bomb strapped to his arm.

On a happier note, everyone was so pleased with the food, drinks, and colorfully funny toasts given by Emma, Killian and the others in the wedding party. Even Granny herself, a hard women made of steel, grew hoarse when she was making her toast to the bride and groom. There was one person, however, who didn't share in the enthusiasm; Drizella. She stared daggers at the way Killian's arm wrapped possessively around Emma and the way Emma always tilted her head onto his shoulder.

**A/N: I told you guys to pay attention to the italics *wink* **

**Ah, the next chapter is almost done and will be up on Monday. For sure! I promise! And it's horribly angsty. **

**Review? See you then! Byee!**


	19. For Better or Worse

**A/N: Well, this is it.********Yup. Yup yup yup.**** Monday, as promised. Hope you all like it…?**** This was a fun one to write—and by fun I mean nerve-racking, a lot of nail biting, and finally some liquid courage to hit submit. Read it and give it to me straight—-I think I can take it**

**Happy reading!**

**Chapter 19: For Better or Worse**

The day of the wedding was an absolute nightmare for Emma. If it were up to her, she'd order all marrying couples to skip the ceremony and go straight to the honeymoon. Ruby was in tears one minute then impatient to marry Victor the next. Emma could hardly keep up, so when Ruby started to break down _again_ she took Ruby's face between her hands and explained.

"Ruby, we've been through this. Everything is perfect. Everything is fine. Everyone is happy, excited, and thrilled about the decorations and the quartet and your marriage. Plus, you're going to ruin your makeup again. You don't want to ruin your makeup, right?"

"No," she replied.

"Okay, it's time to get up off the floor." She lifted the bride back onto her heels and helped smooth out the dress. Emma definitely didn't see herself ever being back in a chapel, let alone calming down the bride.

She tried to imagine herself in a white dress with Killian waiting for her at the altar, she couldn't imagine it without feeling chills. On the other hand, things were different for her now. She had started a new life with actual parents and someone she believed genuinely loved her. She didn't have to fight to survive anymore, but the instincts remained intact.

There was so much love around her—from her parents, friends, and most of all, Killian—that sometimes it scared her. She was so used to losing people in her life; walking in then walking out; abandoning her; hurting her. That was her experience and that was what had been ingrained in her. It would take some time to change that though. Hell, she didn't even admit it to herself most of the time.

The sound of the cello snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Everyone, get in place!" she ushered. All the women lined up behind Emma and Emma next to the bride who didn't want to leave her side. Ruby looked like a scared little girl. Emma whispered to her, "Don't be scared. It's just you and Victor up there. Keep reminding yourself that—it's just you and Victor."

"It's just me and Victor," she said, her voice wavering. She said it a few more times until she was certain again, "It's just me and Victor. Wow, Emma," she said with wonder, "how are you so good at this?"

Emma didn't answer. She just smiled and rounded the corner on her cue and the others followed suit. The wedding hall was bright and beautiful. Everything was so classic and so different than you'd expect the eccentric Ruby to want, but that's the funny thing; when it comes down to it, sometimes what we need defies everything we think we want.

She gripped onto her bouquet. Everyone was staring at her. She felt herself starting to tremble and she wasn't even at the half way mark yet. This was all too familiar and she found herself looking to Killian for relief. He was definitely staring at her back, but even from the distance he could see straight through her Mona Lisa smile—she was panicking like someone who wanted to run.

Before she knew it, the worst was over and she was standing in her place next to the bride's. _'Not in the bride's place,' _she assured herself. Ruby was last and it was worth all the effort, crying, and consoling. As she finally appeared from around the corner, Victor smiled at how breathtaking and radiant his soon-to-be wife looked. She glided naturally with the music.

The ceremony took place and vows were said. Emma and Killian both walked up, the wedding bands in hand, and presented them to the bride and groom. She caught Killian's eyes and almost jumped at how intense they were. He was clearly watching her, not just looking, but _reading_ her. She lowered her head and returned back to her spot.

The bride and groom kissed and everyone yelped and hollered. Emma and Killian clapped, too, but she could still feel his watch. He never let off. Something was odd about Emma and he knew it. The wedding triggered her, but why?

At the reception, the band played for the bride and groom's first dance and Killian found Emma staring at the light haired toddler who had been the flower girl during the ceremony, her arm hugging her middle. Emma shifted her attention to the ecstatic bride and groom as Killian walked up to her. She saw him and snaked her arm around Killian's waist. He kissed the top of her head like he normally would, but he knew she was doing more than just avoiding his eyes. Killian could sense Emma's unease. She wasn't just holding him; she was clinging to him like someone who was shaken.

"Lovely, isn't she?" he commented on the little flower girl, her mother scooping her up off the dance floor.

"Yeah." Was that a hint of longing? Killian wondered.

"You forget how adorable they are at that age when you're surrounded by adults every day."

"I wouldn't know. I've never even held a kid before let alone spent one-on-one time with one," she said absent-mindedly. Killian reflected on her words, they seemed to weigh more than just a fleeting comment.

Everyone started to make their way to the dance floor and Killian gave a slight bow and held out his hand.

"Miss Swan," she took it, but avoided his eyes. While they danced, she couldn't help it and finally looked up. No longer dancing now, just swaying to the music, they stared each other down seeing who would crack first. Emma was good at keeping a blank face, but her eyes revealed everything. Killian stared back with great interest—he was seeking something, so Emma broke their silence to distract him.

"Ruby was beautiful, huh?" He didn't respond. His eyes still bore down into hers trying to decipher them. "You know, I barely got her to stop crying before she walked down the aisle. Speaking of, I think the all white theme was a really good choice. It was all very classic," Emma rambled on. "I hope everyone likes the cake, too, I mean I thought it was pretty good, but not everyone is a fan of chocolate—"

"Emma, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Why would you think that? Are you okay?" She tried to sidetrack him, so he led her towards the darkened patio.

He pulled her into the shadows and lifted her chin up. "Tell me what's wrong."

His stare was unnerving and knowing. "Nothing. These kind of things just make me uncomfortable."

"Why?" he pressed on. She pushed away from him and leaned over the rail, staring at the garden below.

"They just do." Emma was scared and he didn't know why. Was it because of their future? Was she afraid about having kids? Is that why she was looking at that girl? Minutes passed by in silence.

"Please say you'll marry me one day," he pleaded. She knew this question was coming and she still didn't know how to respond to it, so she said the only thing she could think of.

"I… I can't promise you that." She didn't want to tell him. They'd only been together for a year and already this question was coming up; she thought she'd be able to avoid it at least for another year or so. She'd left it behind her, but all this celebration was too close to home. The little nagging voice in her head said to get as far away as she could from there. She felt that panic rise even more when she looked over and saw his stunned eyes darken.

"I thought you trusted me."

"I do, Killian! I trust you and what we have right now. I just… I don't know. I can't imagine myself in the white dress and—"

"You're lying. I saw it in your eyes, the way you walked, like you were the bride walking to the altar."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I was just nervous because I was the first one out."

"I'm not asking you to marry me right now; I just want to know how you feel about it." He was close to the answer. He could feel it and as much as he didn't like to make her uncomfortable, he got the sense that maybe this hesitation transcended just them. He wasn't going to give up that easily.

"Marriage is one of the biggest commitments you can make."

"So, hypothetically speaking, in the future—way down the line—you don't want to be committed to me?"

"I just don't see why we have to get _married_ to be happy."

"Because it's supposed to be a declaration of love. It _is_ a big commitment, but that's what you do when you love a person more than anything else in the world. You cherish each other and have kids and grow old together. I feel that way with you. I would like to get married one day, maybe years from now if that's what it takes, but I would like to someday."

"I'm sorry Killian, but I've never heard you sound more like a child," her words were icy, her narrowed eyes just as cold. "Marriage changes people. It takes away a person's freedom and turns them into a thing that the other can possess."

She instantly regretted her tone when she saw the hurt in his eyes. She didn't want anyone else; Killian was it for her and she did want to grow old with him, but there were crucial things she couldn't give him; like being his wife or mother to their child. A part of her wanted to say yes to it all, but from what she had learned, marriage was a death sentence for love.

"I know you're not asking for something concrete. I know you just want that hope of being able to someday… I wish I could give you that promise, but I can't. I can only promise that I'll be there."

"So your answer is 'no,'" he said it more as a statement. "Neither marriage or I would ever take away your freedom, Emma. You'd still be you and I'd still be me—nothing could ever change that."

"You don't get it, Killian." She stared off into the night, her face clearly annoyed.

"Then explain it to me!" His resolve to stay calm was breaking.

"I can't!"she exclaimed with equal force.

"Why not? No lies, remember?"

"I'm not lying! I'm just choosing not to tell you about things that don't matter anymore. I can't tell you because you'll just ask more questions and I swore to myself that I would leave that all behind me, and I have for years. I've been perfectly fine without a ring and a crib." She was angry at him for pushing the subject so much, but even angrier at herself that she wouldn't tell him—she didn't want to have to face it herself.

"What happened that's so bad you can't trust me to understand?"

"Something very bad." She could hear it; the whispering, the crying, and screams. Closing her eyes, trying to fight it off and block out the memories.

"Just tell me!" he begged. "I promise you I can handle it."

Emma stayed quiet. She didn't want to ever think about _him_ again and what he did to her. Least of all, she didn't want to drag that part of her past into her relationship which had been nothing but wonderful. Killian and Emma were fresh starts for each other, or so she thought. She never gave much thought to these things until this damn wedding happened. She was perfectly fine taking it day by day with Killian and now here he was, demanding answers that she didn't want to disclose.

"That's not fair, Emma. That's not fair that I faced my past and you're not. I told you everything. You know everything about me."

She looked away defiantly. He wasn't getting a word from her right now—he wasn't going to get a word ever because she had closed that chapter of her life. She wanted it that way, but their conversation was threatening that peace; the peace that had kept her alive and helped her to survive. It was only one step up from denial, and she felt so bad that she had made Killian get over his when she still sustained hers. She was stupid to think that her past wouldn't catch up to her eventually; Killian's did, after all.

"You're seriously not going to tell me."

Again, she ignored him.

"Right, Emma. I understand," he grunted. "I'm going to be at the bar if you want me." There was a sad emphasis on _want._

She watched him walk away and cursed to herself. He wouldn't hurt her, but the last time she wanted to marry a man, well, he did. _He_ had been the only real relationship she had had before Killian. She was young, naïve, and weak. She didn't want to go through that again.

Killian was Killian, though, not some guy who made promises he couldn't keep to a girl willing to believe in a fairy tale ending. Killian had kept every single one of his promises. She sat on the bench and indulged in the fantasy she'd been fighting off all evening.

She imagined him in front of her, sliding a ring onto her finger; an actual father to give her away and a mother to cry happy tears while Killian dipped her back into a kiss. She wished she could just do that like normal couples, but she wasn't normal. She'd done her best to forget, but being in a relationship was different from a one night stand or something casual. Those didn't test her emotionally.

He just wanted hope. That's all he was asking from her and she shot him down without thinking. Now, he thought she didn't want him and that's what broke her heart the most. She wanted him so badly, but she couldn't risk being wrong again.

:::::::::::::

Killian was well into his second—or was it third?—drink with his mates. Leroy and Graham both suspected something was wrong.

"Alright, buddy, what's going on?" Leroy asked.

After a brief pause, Killian solemnly said, "She doesn't want to marry me. She's hiding something." He tossed back the rest of his drink.

"Hey, cut him off, okay?" Graham said to the bartender.

"What do you mean she doesn't want to marry you? You two are like soul mates."

"That's what I thought," Killian mumbled.

"Look, just like you," Graham started, "Emma has her own baggage. There's probably a good reason behind this. Just talk to her when we get out of this place."

"Maybe she's already married," Jefferson teased.

"You are such an asshole," Leroy barked at him.

"I'm just wondering why his girlfriend is so afraid to marry him. That's all," he said before being pulled away by Drizella.

"I want to dance," she commanded.

"I don't," Jefferson smiled and walked away from her. She huffed and looked at Killian.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing to concern yourself with, Drizella."

"Look," she ran her hand down his back, "if there's anything I can do to take your mind off it—"

He turned and looked at her, bored of her antics, "Not going to happen, lass." She glared at him and stormed off after Jefferson—her efforts completely thwarted.

Killian put his head in his hands, whispering, "She loves you. She loves you."

Graham just frowned at his best friend.

"Rings be damned," he looked up at Graham. "She loves me and I'm messing everything up."

"She has to compromise sometime, too, Killian."

:::::::::::::

Emma drifted towards the bar and she saw Killian slumped over on his stool. She felt that tightening in her chest again as guilt flooded in. She was making him miserable—she was breaking his heart. He looked destroyed and defeated, and she did that to him; what good was she? All she did was keep making mistakes. She turned around and went straight for the ladies' room, but her path didn't go unnoticed.

"Emma?" Mary Margaret's voice called out into the bathroom.

She found Emma, who was on the verge of breaking down, in the first stall.

"Oh, honey, what happened?" she said in a motherly voice that just made Emma cry even harder.

"I can't tell him," she squeaked out.

"Tell him what? Emma, what's wrong?"

Emma looked at her mother. Killian had asked her that same question, but staring at her mother, she knew she'd be safe in confiding in her. She needed someone who wouldn't judge her and would understand. Mary Margaret hadn't been around until recently, but since they had met, she'd been nothing but supportive and understanding. She was her mother first, but she was also her best friend second.

The woman hiding in the last stall overhearing Emma's story, however, wasn't so nice.

:::::::::::::

Almost an hour had passed and still no sight of Emma.

"I need to find her," Killian headed down the hall again.

"You need to keep sobering up," Graham jerked him back onto a nearby bench.

"I am sober. Graham, I'm messing things up again."

"No you're not. I hate to say, but she's the one messing up. You seriously haven't done anything wrong."

"I don't give a damn about any of this," he waved his hand towards the celebration. "I just care about her, but she's hiding something and she won't tell me what's wrong."

"I think I might be able to help with that." Drizella walked up to them.

"Go. Away," Graham warned her. The last thing they needed was Jefferson's sociopathic date coming in and mucking things up.

"But I have so much to tell you… Like how she's blubbering to her mother in the ladies' room."

"Is she alright?" an alarmed Killian asked.

"She's fine. Her mommy's with her now. Anyway, what I have to say is much more interesting."

"I'm not interested in what you have to say," Killian said darkly.

"She does want to marry you someday."

As much as he didn't want to give in, this caught his attention.

"But she's scared that you'll be just like _him_," she said, trailing her hand down Graham's arm.

"Who is _he_?" Graham questioned, shrugging her off.

"No clue, but he really was a piece of work though." She put on fake sympathetic face, "And that poor baby of theirs, too."

The fact that it involved a guy didn't shock Killian—it was more of a confirmation. He'd reasoned that it was about another guy. After all, someone had to have helped her build up those walls, but a baby? Killian hadn't expected that—he never in a million years would have assumed that.

Graham had had it with this woman. He towered over her, but she wasn't intimidated. It only fueled her games even more.

"She thinks you'll treat her like damaged goods, but I guess she kind of is."

"I need to go," Killian walked away from the two and searched for Emma and her mother.

:::::::::::::

It was a chilly night and the moon was gone, but Emma barely felt it. There was nothing to light up the sky anymore and the shadows seemed limitless. Emma felt lost in the dark.

"I need to tell Ruby I have to leave," Emma said in a daze. She was rambling really; she felt like she was out of her mind.

"Sweetheart, it's her wedding day—she only has eyes on one person and he's a tad taller than you." She hoped Emma would laugh or smile at the joke, but Emma was gone and didn't register a thing.

"Come on, let's get to the car. I'll come back and give Killian the keys for your car later. Emma," she held her daughter, but the empty look in Emma's eyes scared her, "We're going to figure this out."

"Figure what out?" Killian asked from behind them.

"Killian, now is not a good time," Mary Margaret said sternly, putting herself in between him and her daughter, but what hurt him most was that Emma just stood there and let her.

"Emma, please. I'll drop this whole thing. I don't care about it if that means losing you_._" He wondered how much of Drizella's story was actually true and how to approach it. It felt like it was going to burst out of him.

"Killian, now is not a good time," Mary Margaret repeated again, blocking him from Emma who was now slowly retreating down the steps.

"Emma talk to me!" She just kept moving until Killian shouted, "I know about the baby." Emma turned—life back in her eyes and her expression horror-stricken. Mary Margaret let her hands drop and Killian ran down to Emma. Her lip was quivering and she had fear in her eyes.

"Then you know what happened," her voice broke.

"No, didn't quite get to that part."

"I just want to go home," her voice sounded weak and wounded. All of her walls had been demolished when she confessed to her mother and she was so vulnerable—her emotional armor gone—and he could see it. He caught her hand and pulled it up to his lips.

"Then let's go home."

:::::::::::::

They didn't speak the whole ride there. She let her head fall against the glass of the window and watched as the lines on the street below blurred. She had no strength left in her, so she kept hugging herself; afraid that if she stopped, she'd fall apart at the seams. Killian helped guide her in. He was being careful like she was breakable, and emotionally, she was right now.

She had dredged up old memories that reopened old wounds. Killian knew the pain that the past could bring, he'd let it rule his life before Emma came in, but unlike him Emma never had the chance to stop fighting and grieve—to survive she had to push it away from her completely. She was the strongest person he knew and concluded that the pain she was feeling would probably be unbearable for most.

He could hear her muffled weeping echoing from the bathroom as he waited for her to get out of the shower. When they stopped, he grew nervous that she might do something impulsive. He didn't know this side of Emma or what she was capable of, so he crept into the bathroom and slid open the shower door. Once the steam let up, he saw her on the tiled floor, knees brought up to her chest and her hair stringing down against her legs in little golden rivers. He grabbed a towel and turned the shower knobs off.

"Come on, Emma," he spoke softly. She didn't move an inch. He leaned in and draped the towel around her shoulders and dried her off. He pushed her hair back, but she still didn't make any effort to go. "Let's get you into bed," he coaxed. "Please?"

She moved her head up, still staring at the tiles on the floor. She had shut down because that's what Emma Swan did when she felt too much—she shut it all off.

"Come on, love. I've got you," he leaned down, wrapped the towel around her, and picked her up. It was like she was a doll, but he knew she wasn't hollow inside—she was in there hiding somewhere, too afraid to come back out, and he'd be there waiting when she finally did.

He sat her on the bed and went to grab one of his loose t-shirts for her, but when he returned, she was already curled up under the sheets of her bed with the towel discarded on the floor. He turned the light off and laid down next to her.

He didn't know if she wanted to be held or didn't want to be touched. He wished he could ask, but knew that wasn't an option. She was so still, he wondered if she was sleeping. Killian wanted so badly to smooth the hair out of her face, but he didn't—he was afraid to. Her little voice cut through the silence,

"I was only nineteen."

Killian held his breath waiting for her to continue. Emma was quiet for a long time before she kept going.

"I was pregnant. He told me he loved me."

"What happened?"

"I lost it."

"Lost what?" As soon as the question came out, Killian knew it was a mistake to ask—he knew exactly what she was talking about.

He saw her form shaking and heard a sharp intake of breath as she silently sobbed in the dark.

He couldn't help it. He pulled her into him and held her tight. "It's okay, Emma. Shhh, it's okay. We don't have to talk about it, shhh."

**A/N: Yup. **

**Leave a review below **


	20. Scars

**A/N: With the last chapter and this one, I think the next one needs to be a bit happier. **

**Hope you like the emotional whiplash from the ride I've taken you all on. **

**Happy reading!**

**Chapter 20: Scars**

Killian stayed up as long as he could before sleep claimed him. It seemed like an eternity watching Emma suffer the torment that only she would ever really know. There was no way for him to stop the floodgate of repressed memories resurfacing in one painful wave after the other, but he held Emma close and tight in his arms; hoping that she would find some sliver of comfort in it and she did.

Emma did feel it and she clung to him, her only anchor in this merciless hurricane whipping her about. It was trying to obliterate every ounce of self forgiveness she had attained in the last nine years.

She had relied on forgetting her ex-husband's temper and abuse. She also couldn't bear to think about the unborn baby she had lost. Forgetting was the only thing that allowed her survival in a world that required her to be tough and invulnerable, but now she wasn't. She felt raw—every emotion scorching her, so she buried her face into the only comfort she could find.

Killian opened his eyes at the crack of dawn, panic jolted him fully awake when he remembered Emma, but she was still deep asleep in his arms. It was amazing how peaceful she could look while she was off in another world free from all this emotional weight. For a moment, he almost wished she could just sleep forever, to escape the agony hovering over her like a ghost. Killian knew it was just biding its time, waiting for her to wake up and open her eyes so she could see all of that ugliness again. He shuddered at the thought of her face, now relaxed and serene, twisting in a torture that he had no control over.

For hours he wanted to kiss her, to trail his hand along the soft skin of her jaw, but he didn't want to risk waking her up yet. Coming back to the present would just destroy her all over again. So he stayed as still as a statue, letting her escape as long as she could.

Eventually she had to wake up and for a brief moment after waking, she didn't know who she was, where she was, and didn't care to find out. In this blank bliss, she had no sense of time or the harrowing life she had had to endure, but when she opened her eyes and felt her face stiff with dried tears, she started to become aware of everything around her.

She looked up and was met with a set of blue eyes, wide with concern. That's when a wall of sadness hit her; reminding her of everything she had, for one perfect moment, forgotten. Emma's wounds peeled open again and bled out misery.

She was paralyzed by her pain and stayed in bed the entire day. Killian had unplugged her alarm clock and kept the curtains closed for her so that she wouldn't have to be reminded that time and the world had kept on going without her. It was easier to just lay in a dark void—closing her eyes and succumbing to sleep then waking up wondering if she was really still dreaming or not. It was only in sleep that she was able to lose herself, so when her dreams bled into her waking life, she was able to find some semblance of serenity.

Killian escaped to the kitchen to bring back food for her, but she didn't want to eat. She didn't have an appetite and everything tasted bland, but through much insistence and coaxing, Killian had managed to get her to. While she slept, he would sneak out of the room, giving Mary Margaret updates and asking Graham to keep covering for Emma. Graham never questioned it. If Killian was calling for her, then it must be something serious.

The weekend went by slowly. Sometimes he just needed to bask in the sunlight or would stand by the window staring out at the horizon, so that he wouldn't get lost in the darkness as well. He never took too long though because even in sleep, Emma still kept her hands gripped onto his shirt, and when she woke up without him near her, she'd lay there in an unvoiced despair until he came back.

He had no idea what was going on in her head or what she was feeling. He could only hope that what he was doing was bringing her some relief, and still, he did try to talk to her.

"Hey, beautiful," he'd whisper when she would wake up, but Emma never replied. She didn't react to anything. She wasn't ready yet; talking required her to turn her mind back on. She just took in his words and humming as he smoothed over her hair, ran his hand comfortingly down her back, and rested his lips on her forehead while she nestled against him.

Emma didn't cry after the night of the wedding, she just lay there defeated in Killian's hold. She knew he was doing his best to soothe her pain and she let him try, but it was still very much real and unbearable. She didn't have perspective; depression was weighing her down—her hurt seemed even more endless with each passing day.

Things got worse for the both of them when Monday came around and Killian had to go back to work. He'd show up exhausted with dark circles under his eyes, nodding off throughout the morning. He got there earlier nonetheless just to get out earlier and back to Emma. The less time she had to spend alone in her self-imposed dungeon, the better. She may not be speaking, but it didn't mean she should be alone.

He was sure of it. Emma had been alone her entire life. Everything was always unpredictable and everyone always made her question her safety. Killian was the sense of certainty that she had always wished for. She trusted him, something that no one had ever offered her before.

Another day went by and Emma only arose from bed when she absolutely had to. Killian would ignore her silent protests when he would pick her up to lay in the warm bath. He was being so attentive and supportive, it was the only ray of ease she had while she started to come back mentally. She had more than enough sleep and didn't find it as easy to escape to it anymore. She just laid there growing more restless and alert with each hour. She didn't want to be aware of anything; she wanted to stay numb.

By the fourth day after the wedding, she felt something new spark up in her. It was something different from crushing sadness and grief; it was disgust. She was disgusted by her self-pitying and how weak and useless she was becoming. Emma was starting to see and recognize everything more with her reactivated mind. She saw Killian's energy depleted face. She was doing this to him. She was killing him and it was her fault.

To think that she had once prided herself on being strong; it made her feel even more hatred for the person she had become. She had already disappeared from work for a week; messages were piling up from her parents and friends; and her loved one was brought to the brink of exhaustion, ready to collapse any day now. The pressure was building up in her until she just couldn't stand it anymore.

She couldn't take it when she woke up. Killian's bedside was cold and she kicked down the covers that trapped in the heat burning her legs. She was starting to feel again and it was agonizing. Her mind took a sharp plummet down, deep into the memories she had never wanted to relive again.

::::::::::::::

They married in a small ceremony at city hall with only his mother and father there to witness their union. She should've known then. She should've seen the signs. She remembered the alarm in his mother's eyes the day her only son married. It was a warning that Emma couldn't register yet.

At first, she thought that maybe his mother disliked her. They had only been dating for six months, but at nineteen years old, it had felt like a lifetime. His father, on the other hand, would always comment on how gorgeous she was and how his son was so lucky to find such a catch. Not long after, she became pregnant and everything seemed perfect.

She remembered the day the test came out positive—he swung her around in his arms and kissed her fervently. They were going to be a happy family. He insisted that the baby would be a boy, but Emma was happy either way. She was just happy to have her guard down for once in her life with someone who loved her more than anything in the world, but that was another sign she should've paid attention to. He made all her decisions for her and treated her less like a person and more like a precious possession. Out of all the _things_ he had, he loved her the most.

When they broke the news to his parents, his mother politely smiled, but that sadness and fear were still gleaming in her eyes. Emma could feel the tension in the room and saw a boiling rage in her father-in-law—one that he had tried to conceal from her, but she was good at spotting a liar. Yet, there she was; married to one.

His mother was a quiet woman who rarely spoke in contrast to her husband who always talked enough for the both of them. Emma thought it was just a complementing relationship—she was quiet, he was loud; she was reserved, he was outgoing. It wasn't until she had miscarried that she discovered why his mother was so fearful.

"You worthless piece of garbage," he would shout out at her in a drunken haze. "What good are you to me now? You're a murderer, you know that? You killed my son. Waste. Disgusting whore."The onslaught of names and abuse never ceased. Every waking moment with him, he treated her more and more like she was the most horrible _thing_ on the planet. She had given so much of herself to this man—she gave him her love, trust, hopes and dreams. In her conflicted feelings, she had almost started to believe him, but then her survival instincts kicked back in the first time he yanked her by her ponytail, slamming her down on the coffee table.

Emma remembered how they fought; how he played dirty to incapacitate her—beat her senseless until she blacked out. She was trapped in a relationship with this monster she had loved so much. She had fallen in love with him for his strength and his charm. He was charismatic and said all the right words. She realized later that it wasn't charm, it was manipulation; it wasn't strength, it was intimidation.

She fought back to defend herself. She had grown up with abuse, she knew the drill and she wasn't going to give up so easily, but she found herself confused and hopeful again when he would revert back into the man who slipped a ring onto her finger. While he was at work, he would send her flowers with note cards proclaiming his love and remorse. He would shower her with presents and take her on the most romantic dates making promises that it would never happen again. Yes, she was good at spotting liars, but she didn't want to admit it to herself that he was the best one of them all.

Sometimes this part of him—the good part—would be there for as little as a day or as long as a few months, but the tension always started to build again and the violence and insults would come back.

It was becoming more out of control. She felt like her days were numbering down. Not knowing where else to go or who else to turn to, she went to his parent's house—the only parents she had ever known. Only his mother was there and she was horrified when she saw the purple bruises littering Emma's face after one of the 'bad' nights.

Emma realized that this cycle didn't just start with her husband; it began with his father and his mother was as much a victim as her. His mother loved her son, but hated the diseased heart he shared with his father. So, she told Emma that if she ever wanted to get out, she'd help her in every way she could.

One night, he was really on a rampage. It looked like a tornado had hit their living room and the more Emma cried the louder he yelled at her. For a minute she thought he was going to kill her with his blows, so she dodged one of his hits, jerked him by his hair, and slammed him down onto the stair rails. She grabbed the phone and ran upstairs as fast as she could. She could hear him stomping after her and barely managed to shut the door and lock herself in the bathroom before he caught up to her. Blood dripped down from her lip and she shook from the adrenaline coursing through her.

"Emma, get the hell out of there right now!" He punched at the door and she stifled cry as she dialed 911. When the police arrived, he tried his best to flip the situation, to refute her story, but it was clear from the house, her bruised up body, and split lip that he was full of it.

Before she knew it, she was a free woman again and rushed to pack whatever she could bring with her. His mother had been sneaking aside money for Emma without her husband knowing and she used that to escape to the east coast. She moved a few times from one squalid place to another. She was young and living pay check to pay check, but she worked hard; taking on extra shifts and other jobs. It wasn't easy and she was so tired, but she had to do it. She had survived worse, after all.

From time to time after that, she would think about the unborn baby she had lost. The pain of her loneliness was too much for her to handle paired with that longing for family. There was no one she could rely on and often thought about what her life would have been like to have someone to love. She always pushed the thought out of her mind whenever reality settled in. If she hadn't lost the baby, then she wouldn't have been able to leave him and who knew what he would've done—not just to her, but their child as well.

Emma knew it wasn't her fault. She had wondered if that vile man had targeted her from the start. Maybe he could sense the tragedy around her and her past—how vulnerable she would be to someone who promised her all the love in his heart—but as blameless as she told herself she was, the trauma was still there and she locked away her fears behind a mask of strength.

She was a fighter; she had guts and was resourceful. If she projected that, she figured it would at least detract the attention of most other threats. Keep up the tough façade and people would leave you alone.

After years of doing so, she started to really believe it. Her heart was protected, her past forgotten, and her fears caged up and stored in the back of her mind. She was always on high-alert after that; hypersensitive to anyone who posed a threat to her safety. She would never be safe from the horrors in the world, but she could at least relax a little knowing that she was safe from the pain and chaos buried down in her own heart. Her walls were up and no one would ever get through.

That is, until Killian, Mary Margaret, and David entered her life; the other Storybrooke residents following suit. These people she had grown to love threatened her walls and now, they were crumbling down as her past met her present.

:::::::::::::

When Killian came home, he creaked open the door and saw Emma with her back facing towards him.

'_Probably still sleeping_.'

Emma had taken up a nocturnal schedule of sleeping all day and turning restlessly at night. He went back to his room, took a quick shower, and took his time in the kitchen, whistling little tunes just to ripple the overwhelming hush in the house. He let out a long breath and closed his eyes leaning back against the counter. He could never resent her—there was nothing she could do or put him through to make him feel that way, but he was worried about her and it was eating away at him.

Although he and Mary Margaret had both decided that time would be the best medicine to help her heal, he was worrying that his efforts to keep her comfortable were working against him. Maybe she shouldn't be hiding in her room. Maybe taking her down to the beach would better get her mind off of things. She was more responsive, he could see it, but she just wanted to stay disengaged from the world.

Hoping to draw her back out of herself, he made up a tray of her favorites and walked back to the room.

'_Maybe music…'_ he pondered.

He quietly pushed the door open with his foot. The only light that shined through was from the hallway, but it was just enough not to disturb her. He placed the tray down next to the bed, but when he looked down at her, he could barely make sense of what he was seeing.

She had scratches all over herself—indentations of sharp nails down her neck, across her chest, running down her arms and thighs. They weren't too deep, but they were angry and red. He jostled her awake and she groaned. She hated herself and she didn't want to be torn from her dreamland.

"Emma."

Her eyes fluttered open at the sound. It was so different from the soft whispers she'd been hearing all week.

"Emma, wake up."

She still didn't speak, but she turned from her side onto her back to see him towering over her. He _was_ angry and it snapped her back to her senses. There was no hiding this time and she knew what would happen when he eventually saw how she had attacked herself.

He picked up her arm, exposing it to the light streaming into the room, and studied the marks. Paralleled lines of four crossed and overlapped in every direction.

"Why would you do this?" he asked desperately. He was angry at himself for letting her down, for leaving her.

She had been alone and knew Killian would be home soon, but she couldn't stand it anymore. She had just wanted to make it stop, but she could feel all _his_ words crawling on her skin. It mixed with the self-loathing that had been brewing inside of her. She couldn't take it anymore, her frustration bubbling over until she let out a tortured high pitched scream in her rage. She had violently writhed on the bed, pulling at her hair, but it still wasn't enough. She started to drag her clawed nails across her skin—harder and harder with each pass. She didn't have any other outlet for the agony and a dark part of her like to see her marred flesh.

It was a way for her to see her pain. She drew lines all over her until she was raw, until her skin screamed. Tiny beads of blood seeped out, but she kept going. If she was going to feel, then she was going to let herself be swallowed up by the burning feelings that stung inside her—she was tired of fighting it off. She grunted as she scraped and scratched, fueling her anger even more as she drew up more memories and more pain. Anger was easier for her; it was easier than feeling the slow dull ache of sadness.

Rage was all encompassing and when it was over, there was this moment of relief and quietness in her mind. Afterwards, she panted and held out her limp arms in front of her. She felt a coolness rush through her body. She tried to make sense of it, but got lost in the sensation of feeling that hurt over her again, so she just whimpered with her eyes closed.

Then Killian's voice drew her back out.

"Emma, why would you do this to yourself?" Killian repeated again. He clasped her head in his hands, forcing her to look in his eyes. There was a mixture of anger, concern, and heartache darkening the light blue eyes she loved so much.

It didn't make her feel any better.

For the first time in days, her eyes brimmed with tears as she was reminded that she wasn't just dying inside herself, but killing him in the process, too. She choked out a long overdue sob and squeezed her eyes shut again. She fought against his hold and Killian let her go. She grabbed the sheet and pulled it over her head.

Killian stepped out into the hallway and pulled out his cell. It was Thursday and he sure as hell wasn't going to leave her alone again tomorrow.

He made the quick call, hung up, and glanced back at Emma who was still crying out in heart wrenching sobs. He stared back at her, hiding under the sheet, and didn't know what else to do. Nothing was working. Nothing seemed to be helping. For the first time in a week, he turned on the light and knelt beside the bed.

"Darling, look at me," he said a little softer, his initial panic gone.

Her cries lessened, but her breaths were still sharp and uneven. He slowly pulled the sheet down, revealing her flushed face and further to reveal her scars. She stared up at him like a scared child.

He had wished to know how much pain she was in—to know what was going on in her head—and now he could see it. It hurt him more than he could imagine.

"Oh, love…" he lifted his hand to her face and she flinched. "Shhh, don't do that. It's me. I'm not going to hurt you." Pulling soaked strands away from her face, he let out a big sigh. In the light, she couldn't hide anymore and everything she had been bottling up inside of her was laid out for him to see.

"I-I'm sorry," she forced out between labored breaths.

He crawled onto the bed next to her.

"Come here," he pulled her upright into his arms and leaned against the headboard. He was careful not to brush up against her stinging skin, so he hugged her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder.

"You shouldn't have to do this," she said a little more evenly. He loved Emma more than anything in the world, she was the reason he was a better man—she was the reason he was living again.

"I'm not going anywhere, love. No matter how hard it gets." His words were muffled, his face buried in the crook of her neck, caressing the unscathed bits of her fair skin with his lips.

"You say that now." She still had that doubt that she was unlovable and too wrecked to be with anyone else. Killian's voice was lighter as he tried to brighten the mood.

"Well," he drew out in that cocky tone she hated to love so much, "What can I say? I'm a slave to that body of yours and couldn't if I tried." For a second, the corners of Emma's mouth twitched up into a smile.

::::::::::::::

"Why doesn't anyone ever tell me these things?" David slammed his hands down onto the kitchen counter.

"Because of the way you react. Besides, it wasn't mine to tell. It still isn't. When she wants our help, she'll ask us… Or at least have Killian come and get us."

"Killian. Always Killian. I'm her father! I'm supposed to protect her!"

"Well, we sure did a good job doing that all these years, didn't we?" It wasn't really a question. It was the sad truth.

David stayed quiet, suddenly humbled by Mary Margaret's words.

"The fact of the matter, David, is that we abandoned her. Killian hasn't and right now, she needs that. He's her constant—her certainty."

"If we could go back, I'd rather have been locked up than have sent Emma away."

"But we can't."

"And now she's paying for our mistakes." David threw the towel in his hand down, started to pace and roughly ran his hand over his face. "There has to be something we can do. Some sort of justice."

"This isn't a fairy tale, David. Sometimes the bad guys win the battles, but Emma has found her own happiness here with us and the man she loves. If that isn't good conquering the evil things that monster did to her then I don't know what is."

Sometimes karma worked backwards—making us suffer first in order to have soaring happiness. Mary Margaret had to look at it that way.

She _had_ to believe that Emma's new life would be wonderful enough to make up for the past and Killian was a big part in that.

"No wonder she hasn't been at the station all week," David said with his voice still raised.

"Well, work is probably the last thing on her mind right now."

"There has to be some way to fix this—to make her better." Mary Margaret stared her husband down. Her tone was icy when she continued,

"We can't _fix_ her, David, because she's not _broken_. She's a person and needs time to come to terms with things."

::::::::::::::::::

"I'm broken."

"You're just hurting. You're not broken."

"I feel like I am."

He pressed his lips gently against hers. It was now Friday afternoon and the curtains were pushed to the side letting the blue sky and light shine in. Her skin wasn't inflamed anymore and the bad wounds were already closed and starting to scab. She was talking again, letting him in without hesitation. She couldn't believe that he was still here lying beside her instead of running for the hills.

"How can you still look at me that way?"

"And what way is that?"

"Like I'm not damaged; like I'm not someone else's used trash."

"My wonderful Emma, how can you think that?"

"Because it's true. I don't know who I am anymore."

"Well, let me remind you," he spoke onto her lips. Emphasizing each word with a kiss, he listed off, "Brilliant, strong, daring, clever, perseverant, and sometimes exceedingly stubborn-Emma."

There was a flicker of light in her eyes at that last one and it set Killian's heart ablaze with hope. He wanted to keep that fire in her going and to inspire that drive that she once had. Before it could extinguish, he kissed her intensely and rested his hand against the back of her neck, not letting her pull away from him or the enchantment of it all.

She had one foot in the door of her new life with Killian, one full of promise and trust while the other was still stuck in the past. This time, though, she allowed herself to give into him. A couple of tears still slid down to her pillow, but she moved closer to him; closer to his love. He cupped her face, trying to channel all his devotion into that single kiss.

"Please," she gasped; he kept kissing her all over her face, trying desperately to suppress her pain the only way he could. "Killian."

He lifted his head back up to meet her watery gaze.

"Make me forget," she pleaded. Her eyes, open and exposed, still showed the pain tearing apart her spirit, but he could also see a little bit of hope twinkling, too—hope that hadn't been there just yesterday.

"I can't do that and I don't think you should, but I can try to make it easier for you to let go." He kissed away another tear. He stared lovingly at her and with everything he had—ever ounce of love he could muster up for her—his lips clasped onto hers, hoping she would feel the weight of it; that it was more powerful than anything life could throw at them.

The screaming in her head dulled out as she focused all her concentration on Killian's touch. It may have only been a distraction—an ephemeral reprieve from her heartache, but Emma allowed herself to be lost in the reverie of their love.

**A/N: Ugh… I think we could all use some ice cream after that.**

**Leave a review below**


	21. What Boyfriends Are For

**A/N: So, this is big change of pace; pretty fluffy throughout the whole thing. **

**Maybe you all need it after the finale—**

**I wouldn't know since I **_**still**_** haven't watched it. I made a deal with myself: **

**-**_**Can't**_** watch finale **

**-**_**Can't**_** read spoilers**

**-**_**Can't**_** read the updates on my favorite fics**

**-**_**Can't**_** go on Tumblr-**

**-Until I gave you guys a chapter because it's been a long time and I apologize for that :/ Hope there aren't any errors or at least no major ones. I was kind of lazy on the proofreading. If there's anything, let me know? Happy reading!**

**Chapter 21: What Boyfriends Are For**

Emma didn't open her eyes again until well into the evening. She must've fallen asleep again, exhausted from her confessions to Killian earlier—exhausted from reliving every horror she had ever known in her life this last week. This time, it felt different waking up though. Just talking about it—everything she had experienced, everything she had felt and was feeling now—had relieved her so much of the burden she carried. She finally opened up and brought her fears to the light while Killian snuffed out each one with attentive listening and a few kisses in between.

She turned over scooted towards the empty side of the bed. She let her face fall into his pillow and took in his scent—a spell that eased her mind and made her worries vanish. That's what she loved about this house. The sea breeze filled every room and clung to the person she loved most: her Killian. She smiled, really smiled, at how light she felt. The pressure building up in her finally let go and though there was still a dull ache in her heart and the unpleasant fleeting memory, she could suddenly feel all this love around her that she couldn't before.

So many people were worried about her and wishing her the best. She was never really alone and was starting to see that now. Her misery just didn't want her see anything more. With that thought, her eyes traveled down at the fading scratches on her skin, they'd all be gone in a day or two except for a given few. Wounds healed, Emma was healing, and she had family to help her.

She shrugged on her robe and took a deep breath. She hadn't left this room in a week and though it seemed small from the outside, this was a significant step for her—this was her coming back to herself, reevaluating who she used to be, and rediscovering who she was. It was so erratic and chaotic before, but now Emma let herself fall against the doorframe, soaking in the stillness and relishing the much overdue quietness in her mind. Lazily glancing around the room, she noted that everything was the same and where it should be. A few days ago, it was a dungeon; then just yesterday with Killian, it was heaven, but now it was just a room and it was time to leave it.

A faint tune caught her ear and pulled her out of her trance. She padded down the hall in her well worn bunny slippers and stopped at the corner of the kitchen. She probably looked a mess—it had been days since she last looked at her own reflection.

"Ah, sleeping beauty, you're awake." Killian was well-rested and his spirits high knowing that Emma was finally starting to come around again. Throwing her a crooked smile, he closed the distance between them and cupped her face. He smoothed over her cheek with his thumb and lowered his voice down seductively. "For a second, I thought I was going to have to kiss you awake."

Emma rolled her eyes, making him smile even more—she was coming back to herself. "It was only a nap. You're so corny sometimes," she chuckled and walked passed him to put the kettle on the stove, but he pulled her back to him.

"Whatever makes the lady laugh and you did—mission accomplished."

Emma escaped his grasp. "I'm laughing at you not your joke."

"Love you, too, darling," he called, walking back to his room.

Looking out through the kitchen window, she watched water roll over the sand and was filled with the urge to get out of the house. "Killian?"

"Yes?" he shouted.

"Feel like going down to the beach?"

He came out and tried to mask his surprise, "Uh, yeah—yes!" He hurriedly grabbed a couple of blankets then hauled Emma over his shoulder.

"Ah! What are you doing?!"

"Making sure you can't change your mind."

"Put me down, you cave man."

"Aw, I missed all this affection."

"I'm still in my pajamas."

"You're fine—no one will be down there if that's what you're worried about." He could just imagine her rolling her eyes again, but didn't set her down until they reached the top of the steps winding down the cliffside.

"What? Changed your mind about carrying me?"

"Well, I could try if you want me to." He teasingly tried to grab her again.

"No! No! It's fine!" she shrieked out, a big grin spread across her face. Emma clutched onto her robe and started to walk down the worn wooden stairs. If she had turned around, she would've seen the sheer happiness on his face—he'd already gotten her to smile _and_ laugh today.

They sat there huddle together and watched as blackening sky swallowed the horizon and the stars emerged one after the other. Killian closed his eyes and rested his head on her shoulder. The two had been out there for hours, listening to the endless chorus of waves overlapping, rising, crashing, and falling until the pattern was lost on them. Their conversation was light and he had filled the silences with stories about his growing up until he couldn't think of anymore memories to share. She sensed his struggle and knew he was trying his best to distract her, so she pulled him back onto the blanket. Killian pointed out endless constellations and Emma strained her neck to see which part of the sky his eyes and hand were trained on.

"I never knew you liked the stars so much."

"When I was a lad, I liked the idea of being able to read the sky like a map."

"That's an interesting hobby for a little kid." She lifted herself up and rested on her arm to look at him.

"I wasn't that little—besides, it was more of an escape plan than a hobby. Thought I could sail away someday."

"How do you do it? How do you not let that stuff hurt you so much?"

"What? Like my parents?" He paused for a moment, trying to pick out the right words. "I guess it still hurts, but I just focus on other things. You help out a lot in that department."

"Oh yeah, I've really been helpful this last month; spiraling out of control, crashing and burning last week. Yup, train wrecks are so much more fun to focus on."

"Please, look at you—smiling and talking days after going through such a rough time. It took me _years_ and _you _to pull myself together. You're stronger than you even know."

Emma played with the corner of the blanket as silence fell between them. She studied his face—she could see the admiration still lingering in his smile, but the guilt she felt was bent on wiping it away. "I scared you, didn't I?" He sucked in a breath and turned his face towards her, but before he could answer she said, "Don't lie."

He let out that long sigh, lowered his eyes, and confessed. "A little bit."

She fell onto her back in defeat and closed her eyes, "I'm sorry."

"Don't do that. You know what. It's nothing to feel bad about."

She stayed quiet but searched for his hand under the covers. He found hers first and laced their fingers. "Remember when we met in the bar?" she chuckled.

"How could I forget? You were the most hostile woman I had ever met."

"Oh, please. You were probably just trying to get into my pants."

He scoffed. "I'm hurt, Miss Swan. The only thing I was trying to do was replace the scowl that pretty face of yours."

"Oh yeah, you replaced it alright—with a bigger one."

"You just didn't realize what a catch I am."

"Suppose you're right." Killian looked over at her; he had been expecting some playful comeback, but instead all she did was press up to him and lean her head against his arm. He abandoned his quest to find another constellation and peered down at her. He liked reading her far more than the stars.

::::::::::::::::::::::::

The rhythm of the sea moving to and fro had lulled them to sleep, and if it weren't for the birds crying out about the soon-to-rise sun, she probably would've stayed dreaming, curled up underneath their blanket. Emma still ignored the waves and the flapping of wings, but when she felt him roll over, trapping her underneath his strong arm, she pried her heavy eyes open. Killian let out a sleepy sigh when he was finally comfortable again and she stared how different he looked—his mouth slacked and his expression innocent and untroubled as he dreamed. She rarely woke up before him. Seeing him this way made her debate whether to wake him up, but they'd been out here way too long.

"Killian," she called out, voice cracking from underuse, but it didn't even register with him. She said it again a little louder, but he only moved a little then went back into slumberland.

She stroked through his hair over and over, calling out his name, until he started to stir.

"Killian."

"Hm…"

"Let's go back inside."

"Mmhmm…" He leaned his head into her hand and fell unconscious again.

"Seriously? Killian!" She shouted a bit louder and patted him on the cheek until he grimaced and his eyebrows furrowed.

"What?" he whined.

"We need to go inside—come on, wake up!"

"No," he rolled over half on top of her. She tried to move, but couldn't underneath his weight while he snuggled his head onto her chest, content again.

"You're ridiculous. Look, the sun's nearly up. We've been out here all night."

"Exactly. A couple more hours won't hurt. Enjoy nature."

She rolled her eyes and with all her strength brutally flipped them over. He groaned when his back hit the sand hard and felt the weight of her scrambling hands on his stomach.

"Bloody hell, woman—stop trying to molest me in my sleep!"

"Okay, good, that means you're awake." She pulled his arms and forced him to sit up. He held his chin up, but still refused to open his eyes in defiance.

"We—" she started to say before he cut her off.

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say—"

"No."

"Stop acting like a baby and come on." She stood up and nearly fell on top of him as her feet sunk into the sand.

"No."

Emma towered over him, hands on her hips and waited for him to open his eyes, but he still resisted. "What the hell?" she said in mock surprise. "Why am I topless?"

Right on cue, Killian peered up at her through one eye and his face fell in disappointment.

"I saw that!"

"Well, that was unsatisfying. If you had actually tried that from the beginning, maybe I would've been more compliant." He stood up, stretched, and yawned in one move. They each grabbed a blanket, not even bothering to shake out the sand, and headed towards the stairs.

When they got to the landing, Killian slumped over Emma's back and she stumbled from his weight.

"Carry me."

"Yeah, not going to happen, buddy." She pushed him off and started up the stairs. He smirked and followed after her. They both sighed when their house finally came into view. She could see the light of dawn illuminating the inside of the house. The sun was peeking out on the horizon and Emma stretched her arms toward the sky. Her yawn turned into a shriek. "What're you doing?!"

He lifted her up with ease and carried her. "You owe me a shower for trying to slap me awake, and then beating me until I actually was." He cringed when he realized what he said. He looked up at her to see if he had triggered anything, but all he was met with was a genuine grin.

"I did not _beat_ you! But okay, I can do that."

He raised an eyebrow at her and gave a sideways smile. "My, my, Emma. Trying to seduce me on the beach and now this? All I wanted was an innocent shower, but if you insist."

"Whatever. There's nothing 'innocent' about it and you know it."

"Just teasing, love. So, what's on the agenda today?"

"I don't know. Just hanging out around the house. Movie marathon?"

"Why not? Whatever you want." He grinned at how easily she was staying in the present now.

"I want you to put me down so I can walk." He ignored that particular request. She was thinking ahead again and making plans. He was bursting with happiness and felt even more admiration for her rising up.

::::::::::::::::::::::::

They had already polished off three bags of popcorn; though the third, Killian complained, was hoarded by Emma.

"Alright, I'm going to go make _myself_ some more since someone doesn't understand the concept of sharing."

"Snooze, you lose, pal. It's not my fault you got wrapped up in it."

"You polished it off during the _most important_ part of the movie!"

"Oh yeah," she deepened her voice, "Explosions and car chases, awesome! Oh no, the bad guy is winning. Oh yay, the good guys won in the end. That was a real surprise!"

"First of all, don't ever do that voice again; second, I would like to point out that I didn't make fun of your first pick, so don't make fun of mine."

"I'm not the one who claims to be a gentleman all the time." She gave him one of her insincere tight-lipped smiles.

"Ha. Ha."

They were well into the next movie that Emma picked out when she started up another conversation.

"I used to hate romantic comedies. Still kind of do."

"They're alright."

"By alright you mean a little corny, cliché, and predictable. They all kind of follow that same pattern."

"Well you picked it," he reminded her. She tuned back into the movie.

"I think that's why people like them. It's like, guaranteed happy ending," she interrupted again.

"Yeah."

"It's alright if you want to change the channel—we can find something else."

"Well, we've already started it; let's just finish it," he said indifferently.

Ten minutes later, the main character was crying and Emma was still bored. She sighed and looked over at Killian to say something else, but paused. His popcorn had been forgotten and his eyes were trained on the screen. She stifled a laugh and covered her smile. He didn't notice anything anyway; he was too caught up in what was happening. _"'Let's just finish It'—right,"_ she mused silently.

It was time to mess with him.

"Oh god," Emma belted. Killian snapped out of his concentration and tried to look bored again. "That was original," she said with heavy sarcasm.

"Yeah," was all he answered. His head was tilted towards her, but his eyes were still glued to the screen afraid he'd miss something.

Emma was determined now.

As the movie went on, she grew silent again; waiting for another moment to strike.

"Let me guess, she's packing her bags to leave! And I was right! _Again._"

She was being as obnoxious as she could and noticed a flash of irritation cross his face, but he masked it. Waiting until the characters started talking again—a sad moment in the movie when all hope of love seemed lost—she snorted.

"Oh, oh, oh! Look who's finally realizing he loves her. Not that it's a surprise really. I wonder if Ruby's seen this movie. You wouldn't think it, but she actually likes these types of movies—if you can call them that," Emma chattered away.

Killian tried to ignore her, chewing on his popcorn in an attempt to drown out the sound of Emma's incessant commentary.

"_Aw, _oh no! It's too late, she's gone! Guess that's the end of the movie," she shoved him lightly. "About time, too. God, who in their right mind came up with this crap."

He was definitely irritated now as he strained to listen to the dialogue over Emma's voice before turning it up even louder.

'_You do love her, don't you? But it's too late! She's already flown back home!' The best friend cried out. The swell of the orchestra rang from the television as rain started to pour down on them._

"He'll find her eventually. They _always _find the girl eventually—though it'd definitely be a funny ending if they didn't, it's not really that romantic, huh? How do people sit through these things?"

"Yes. I always thought people _watched _movies, but apparently you like to talk during them," Killian snapped.

"Wait-wait, am I ruining it for you? Do you actually like the movie?" Emma feigned surprise and ruffled his hair.

"No," he said defensively and leaned his head out of her reach, trying hard to piece together what he had just missed on the screen.

"It's alright if you do, ya know. I just never pegged you as the overly sentimental type—"

"I'm just trying to make do with the movie _you _picked," he retorted.

"Okay then," she grabbed the remote out of his hand. "Let's change the channel since it's making us both miserable." Emma raised the remote, but Killian snatched it out of her hand in a flash and threw it onto the other couch. There was no coming back from that one and they both knew it.

"You like the movie," she teased.

"No I don't. I just like to _finish_ what I _start_, that's all," he grumbled.

"You know they're going to have a happy ending, so why are you so determined to watch it? What's the point?"

"Because I like to _finish. What. I. Start._"

'_Krista! Krista!' the actor shouted over the noisy crowd in the train station._

"Wow. Didn't see that one coming. It's has to be a train station—has to! Can't be at their house or work; you know, places where you can actually find people without hassle."

He drummed his fingers on his thigh as he bit the inside of his cheek. She was really wearing into his patience now and she loved every second of it.

"I think you like the movie."

"No, like I said—"

"Fess up!"

'_What are you doing here, James? Where's your fiancé?' Krista frowned at the man._

'_I know I couldn't see it before, but it was all a mistake. I canceled the wedding... I didn't want to make the biggest mistake of my life. It's you; it's always been you! If you'll let me, I'll make it up to you for the rest of my—'_

"Someone likes the movie," Emma sang loudly.

"Emma, please be quiet—"

"Just admit it!"

"I can't hear anything they're saying—"

"Admit it! Admit it, admit it, admit it," she shouted again and again.

"Fine! I like the damn movie! Now will you please shut up?!" Emma could feel the heat of his anger rolling off of him. She couldn't help herself._ Just one more._

"Look at that! She heard him over an _entire station _full of people—"

"Bloody hell, woman!" Killian yanked her back against him; restraining her with one arm and clamping over her mouth with his hand so he could finally hear the last few lines of the movie.

'_Krista, I love—I love—I love you.'_

'_Oh, James! I've always loved you!'_ _Music started to play as they kissed. The camera circled around them then panned out on 'Krista and James' standing in the middle of the station. _

The credits started rolling and Killian shoved Emma away from him, sore that she was making fun of him.

Emma felt like she was literally dying from laughter. If it was possible, this was it—she was going to die clutching her tightened stomach and Killian glaring at her from the corner of his eye.

"I can't—I can't breathe," she heaved out, sliding onto the floor.

"Then I suggest you stop laughing," Killian sneered as he stepped over her crippled form toward the kitchen.

"You know—" She could barely talk, "You know that I'm—" Another fit of giggles overcame her again.

He rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

"You know that I was just teasing you," she finally managed to get out. After a couple more minutes, she tried to suppress her giggling while under his displeased gaze. She swallowed another laugh and tried to straighten out her face then moved to sit upright on the floor. He gave her a bored look.

"Are you finished now?"

"I think so." After a few moments of silently staring at each other, a grin started to creep onto her face.

"Oh, come off it!"

Her eyes squeezed shut and she cackled deafeningly loud; holding her belly and falling sideways.

"It was a damn good movie and you know it!" He stomped over to her and pressed her back onto the rug.

"No—no it wasn't! It was horrible," she wheezed out as he straddled her, pinning her arms back. "It was so bad, but you were so into it!" she shrieked. He covered her mouth with his in a hard, frustrated kiss meant to silence her, but when he brought himself back up, she only continued to tease him again. He let his head fall against the floor with a thud in defeat.

"Alright, mock me all you want!" He snapped his head back up and glared at her. "I still love you though." He gave her a quick peck on the lips and while Emma's chest still jumped from stray giggles, she had quieted down immensely only to widen her eyes at him.

"'_Oh, Killian! I've always loved you!'"_ Killian looked away, letting go of her arms and moving to get up.

"I give up."

Emma pulled him back down and rolled them over.

"You're adorable."

"What every man wants to hear."

Her hair tickled his face as she smiled down at him. Her green eyes seemed to glow with life and amusement even in the shadow of her hair. Though it was at his own expense, he was glad to see her so alive. He rolled his eyes, his aggravation gone, and let out a small chuckle at how ridiculous this all was. He wrapped his hands around her waist.

"Damnit, woman—come here!"

**A/N: I don't know—Killian seems like a passionate guy underneath it all and being with Emma, well, I just thought it would make him kind of sentimental. **

**(I really really need to watch that finale) **

**Leave a review? **


	22. Matter of Time

**A/N: Sorry about the slow update (again), but I have a decent excuse this time-I'm technically on vacation in the mountains. Like, 'there's a deer sleeping on my porch and the nearest store is an hour away away' mountains. Lucky for me, I'm pirating my neighbor's wifi which I only get if I sit at the corner of the property. I think they know lol Happy reading!**

**Chapter 22: Matter of Time**

Killian woke up well before his alarm was set to go off. He rubbed his eyes and searched for Emma in the dark and found her right there still, buried in the covers breathing softly, perfectly fine and safe. He didn't know why he was so afraid that she wouldn't be there—she seemed happy again, or at least happy enough for him to stop worrying, but watching her still face, relaxed in sleep, brought back flashes from just the week before. Emma had seemed just as peaceful in sleep then, but when she woke up, it was a whole other story.

He ran his fingers gently along the light pink scar on her forearm and started to drown in a flood of his own doubts. Sure, they had had a fun night teasing each other—her doing most of the teasing over that blasted movie—and this last weekend had been almost as normal as before, but what if she wasn't ready for him to go yet?

Actually, the real question was whether he was ready to leave her alone again. He hated himself for not trusting her, but seriously, what else could she expect? She must've heard his thoughts because Emma started to stir. His hand froze over her arm when she turned over and opened one eye at him.

"Hey," she let out sleepily. "What time is it?"

"Three-thirty."

"Then why aren't you sleeping?"

It's wasn't exactly like he could ask her, _'If I leave today, are you going to go back to… that…?'_ He shrugged and looked down guiltily.

"You better try. You have to get up in three hours," she yawned, closing her eyes again.

"It's alright, I'm just going to stay home," he said trying to sound casual, but there was something in his voice, the slightest lilt, that made her eyes shoot open and search his face. "What I'd do?" She raised an eyebrow at him, so he tried his best to piece bits of the truth together. "I can't sleep and I'll just be yawning the whole morning, so I'm just going to have to spend the entire day in bed with you. Shame."

"You should get your lazy butt out of bed and go in later," she ordered, catching on to his plan. So Killian did what he did best and tucked himself into her, planting distracting kisses along her shoulder.

"Why are you trying to rid yourself of me? I thought you liked my… _company_," he murmured into her neck.

"I do," she said with less conviction and shivered at the faint touch of his lips ghosting over her jaw. "That's not going to work," she finally said, pulling his face up to meet his eyes.

'_Damn.'_

"As much as I enjoy your _company_, you can't do that."

"What? Enjoy the perks of being with the most irresistible woman in—"

"Killian, you don't need to babysit me," her voice grew sad.

"I didn't—"

"Ah, ah, ah. Lie detector."

"Of course I would find myself with the only bloody woman—"

"I know it's been kind of crazy, but I'm better. I promise; you don't need to be worried."

"I understand you're as tough a lass as they come, but it's been _three_ days since you started talking again. Aren't you rushing things a bit?

"And it's been _two_ weeks since I saw anyone. If it bugs you so much, I'll go to my parents. They've been threatening to kidnap me anyway."

"Good plan."

"Yup, it'll give me the chance to convince my dad to let me go back to work."

"Your dad? He's retired. How can he stop you from going—"

"Graham."

"Ah. Are you sure you want to?"

"I'm doing this and I'm not going to change my mind."

"I see someone's rediscovered her stubbornness," he sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Shut up and hug me."

Those next three hours felt like ten minutes and when that alarm went off, Killian nearly threw his phone across the room. He collapsed onto his pillow and instantly regretted what he had said about being too tired to go—he jinxed himself.

"Time to get up," Emma whispered.

"Five more minutes," he grumbled and draped his arm over her. Those five minutes felt like heaven and he was having a wonderful dream about the ship they had sailed on their anniversary when he felt a light slap on his face accompanied by an annoyingly pleased voice.

"Good, you're awake," Emma smiled.

"You need to find a better way to wake me up. I suggest a more arousing one. Five more minutes."

"No! You've been mumbling that for the last twenty minutes. Up!"

"But you're so warm!" He snuggled closer to her. Emma threw back the blankets and he let out an irritated groan as the unwelcoming cold air hit him. "You're so cruel to me."

"You like it. I'll make you coffee."

"I love you."

"I know," she sang, walking over to the kitchen.

Poor Killian left still half asleep and Emma, feeling a little guilty about it, crawled back in bed. Her guilt subsided when she realized how comfy it was and fell back asleep. When she woke up, she smiled at how spoiled she felt—waking up just before noon while everyone else ran around outside.

Emma finally left and she had to admit it felt really good to get out of the house; she was getting a little stir crazy. Just turning on her car and driving down the now familiar roads to town brought on a pleasant sense of serenity. She messed with the dial on the radio and started belting out lyrics, like she hadn't done in a long time, when a thought hit her. Ruby should be back from her honeymoon by now. She decided to stop by and catch up before going to her parents, but only after her mission was complete:

There were donuts to be purchased and nothing would stop her.

She parked at the very end of the block, nearest to the park, so she could take her time passing all the Storybrooke shops with their weathered hand-painted signs and owners who always acknowledged the passing residents.

"Good morning," she said to Roger, the florist. When he went to see who the greeter was, he just stared at Emma and dropped his shears. _'Okay. Not a good morning then.'_

She waved to the older women laughing together on the bench in front of the salon like they did every afternoon, but none waved back. _'Starting to feel like an idiot now…"_

Emma shook her head and stuffed her hands in her pockets. She felt awkward and kept her mouth shut and head down._ 'What is with everyone today?'_

Emma reached the store and at the counter, someone finally greeted her with a smile.

"Emma! Haven't seen you in a while, the usual?" the clerk asked her.

"Hey! Yes, please," she smiled back. They made light talk about how delightful Ruby's wedding reception was, how her parents were doing, and how sad they were that the summer weather was finally coming to an end. Ashley Boyd came out of the back with a new batch of glazed pastries and her eyes widened when she saw Emma.

"Emma!"

"Hey, Ash. How are you?"

"Oh you know, same old," she answered with a nervous laugh.

"Are you okay? You look a little sick." Ashley bit the inside of her cheek as Emma paid. "Well… I'll be seeing you."

On her way out, an elderly woman came up to Emma and placed her hand on Emma's cheek in that comforting grandmotherly way.

"You're Mary Margaret's daughter! Oh, look at you; you're such a lovely young lady. I've known your mother since she was a little girl and I see the beautiful resemblance. She has my phone number if you ever need anything, just call me—I'm Edna. Oh dear, I hope Storybrooke is much kinder to you." The woman gave a sad smile and left.

'_That was nice… And weird. What the hell just happened?'_

She let out the breath she'd been holding and walked briskly to the diner.

The bell on the door chimed and a few of the patrons glanced over and eyed her.

"Ruby, I think you should get over here," Granny said with an off voice.

"Fine, but you're going to have to bring those boxes in yourself," Ruby shouted from the back. When she appeared, she took one look at Granny's face and followed her stare.

"Emma!" With that, some of the customers craned their necks over booths to get a good look at her while others lowered their gazes, ashamed to stare. Ruby ran up to her and pulled her into a tight hug. "I was so worried, but your mom said not to call yet."

"Ruby," Emma whispered. "Why is everyone looking at me?" Ruby turned around and swept her fierce eyes over each person, silencing every whisper.

"Yeah. About that, we should get out of here." She took Emma's arm in hers and guided her out of the awkwardly quiet diner and made their way towards the park.

:::::::::::::::::::

So this was good. Emma was okay. She would be at her parents. Her parents would no doubt shower her with affection. All was fine. Killian, now at break, let out a sigh of relief. Leroy stopped eating and watched him closely.

"You doing okay there, bud?"

"Didn't sleep too well." He stretched out his neck and fell back against a post of the pier.

"And Emma? Is she doing alright?" Killian raised an eyebrow at Leroy's uncharacteristically hesitant voice.

"Yes."

"That's good," Leroy stammered.

"What are you not telling me?" he asked, making Leroy shift around uncomfortably.

"It's just… At the diner, I overheard—"

"Jones! Grumps!" Jefferson dragged a chair over and flipped it around, propping his head up on the back and smiling at Killian like a Cheshire Cat. "Heard about Emma. Whew, talk about baggage, am I right?"

"Drop it, Jeff," Leroy warned.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Killian said a little too quickly. It wasn't his best line, but his panic didn't let him come up with anything else.

"Oh come on, it's not like it's a secret anymore," Jefferson taunted, shoving at Killian's shoulder. "The ex, the marriage, the divorce, the pregnancy. The soap opera that is Emma Swan. All before she was twenty-one! Jeeze, that's got to be a record."

"Did you know about it, too?" Killian asked Leroy who apologetically nodded. "Who told you?"

"I heard it at the diner… Granny was talking about it with Ruby," Leroy mumbled.

"The diner! How the bloody hell does she know?"

"How can you _not_ know." Jefferson dramatically rolled his eyes. "Can we please talk about how I called it at the wedding? Well, I nearly did. I mean she _had_ been married, so I think that counts for something."

"Ignore him. Look, she has a lot of friends here in Storybrooke. I think everyone's just concerned, is all."

"Good thing it didn't work out between us," Jefferson grinned at Killian. "Dodged a bullet there—sorry, _friend_, guess you got hit."

Killian was at a loss for words; he was torn between his concern for Emma and his want to throw Jefferson off the pier.

"You know, it's hard to imagine our gun-slinging sheriff getting thrown around. Guess everything happens for a reason though; I don't think we would've looked twice at her sporting the single mom get up. Teenage pregnancy wouldn't look good on her."

Killian hauled Jefferson up by his shirt and slammed him into one of the wooden pillars.

"Whoa, whoa! Easy boy, it's not like I told everyone!"

His eyes blackened; Killian was fully ready to take his anger out on Jefferson—it's not like he didn't deserve it. Hell, one could say it was well overdue, but Leroy tried to pull him back nonetheless.

"Like I said, Jones. _Wasn't me_, so go take it out on someone else," Jefferson barked at him.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Leroy finally pried Killian away. "He's not worth it. Shouldn't you be looking for someone right now? I'll cover you, just get out of here."

He had to go, it's what he was supposed to do, but Jefferson's mouth and arrogance just made it way too easy to want to beat the smirk off his face. Reason won in the end and he turned his back, not before giving Jefferson one last murderous look.

Then Jefferson opened his mouth yet again.

"That's right walk away." Killian stopped, his hands clenched into fists while everything around him started to turn red. "You don't have it in you anyway… Or maybe you do. Bet she likes it rough, huh?"

In one swift motion, Killian closed the space between them and punched Jefferson so hard he dropped.

"What the fuck?!" he yelled out, blood spurting from his face and standing up only to receive another blow right in the jaw. He was thrown back again, but this time, he learned his lesson and cowered on the floor.

"You were wrong, Leroy," Killian smirked in amusement, shaking out his hand. "That was definitely worth it." He took in the sight of Jefferson's bloodied face and stood over him; the coward even flinched. "Listen to me carefully, _friend_. If I ever catch you talking about my Emma, or even hear that you are, I will not hesitate to rip your head off." Killian slapped him upside the head for good measure. "Good talk."

:::::::::::::::::

"Ugh, how did this happen?" Emma groaned into her hands. It only took her a second to figure it out after she had asked it. She sat up and looked at Ruby.

"Drizella," they both said at the same time without surprise.

"Ugh, that bitch."

"Ruby."

"What? It's not like she isn't! I'm so sorry, Emma."

"It's not your fault. You didn't tell everyone." Her mind wandered to the diner incident. _Everyone_ stopped what they were doing and stared at her like she was some circus attraction—or worse, with pity in their eyes. "That's what I get for telling my life story in the lady's room. I feel like I've been warned against this before. Maybe this is a sign," she tried to lighten the situation, "I need to start paying more attention to chick flicks…" Then a real smile crept up onto her and she couldn't help but giggle, "Like Killian does."

"No way. Oh that's too funny! Victor likes them, too. Must be a secret guy thing. Of course, you can't get him to admit it."

"You know, I haven't asked once about your honeymoon. How was it?"

"You seriously feel bad for not asking about my freaking honeymoon while all this crap is happening?"

"Well, you're my best friend and you just got _married_, so, yeah, it's kind of a big deal."

"Emma. I had months of me-centric time. Your turn now."

"But I just—"

"Emma, it was a honeymoon." Ruby rolled her eyes. "We drank, we danced, had loads of great sex. The usual," she said hurriedly. "Back to the important stuff, what are we going to do about this? Better yet, to her."

She sighed. She should know better than to try to change topics with Ruby. Once she was locked onto a problem, she kept at it until it was done and handled.

This situation just couldn't be fixed though.

"There isn't anything we can do. Can't exactly make people forget what they already know. God… You're right, she is such a bitch!"

"Feels good, don't it?" Ruby gave a sinner's smile.

"I think I need to see my mom about this one." Emma pat down her pockets trying to find her phone.

"Uh oh, Mama Nolan. Drizella better watch her ass," Ruby grinned.

"Crap, no wonder I haven't gotten any texts. I don't have my phone. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Tell mom and pops I said, 'hi!' and tell man-candy I said, 'Why, hello there,'" she teased.

"You're a married woman now!" Emma laughed.

"I know!" Ruby said excitedly, holding up her hand and pointing at her ring then turning to go back to the diner.

Emma watched her walk down the block. Today was horrible and embarrassing—and yeah, she did want to hunt Drizella down—but there was one good thing so far. Her best friend didn't treat her any different from how they were before.

:::::::::::::::::::::::

Emma pulled up to her parent's house and spotted Killian's car parked there, too.

She knocked on the door, anticipating her mother's teary face, her father yelling about justice, and Killian sitting there patiently for Emma—probably praying for her immediate arrival.

David answered the door. She was sort of right. At least the part about 'Killian sitting there, looking very uncomfortable in the back.'

"Hey, dad." She smiled, but it faltered when she saw his eyes starting to water. Without saying a word, she hugged him and it hit her that her father had probably been pulling his hair out for the last two weeks; fighting the urge to run over to take care of his not-so-little girl. Hearing about what happened… Well, she could imagine that it nearly tore him apart.

They stood in each other's embrace for a long while until little feet stomping from the kitchen were heard.

"Emma, I'm going to kill her!" Mary Margaret growled in a voice much lower than her usual cheer.

"Mom…"

"That little—I swear if I ever see her, I'm going to—"

"Not do anything or else I'll have to arrest you."

"She can't get away with this!" Mary Margaret shouted. Now David looked a little sour.

"When _I_ wanted justice, it was _'the world's not a fairy tale, David,'_ but when this woman wants it, it's _rally up the troops_!" David exclaimed to Killian, pointing at his raging wife.

Her mother was pacing, trying to ease her bloodlust, and spouting off about how the 'little she-devil' messed with the wrong family while her father stood there lamenting himself. Emma and Killian both observed silently from opposite sides of the room, taking in the tornado of madness in front of them.

"Don't you start, David; this is different. We know where the little wretch is."

"Don't _you_ start, Mary Margaret. What are you going to do? Knit her to death?" The two continued to bicker in their frustration and concern for their daughter.

Emma looked to Killian who was already staring at her through the chaos. He looked extremely uncomfortable and out of place sitting there on the floral couch.

'Hi,' she mouthed. Killian nodded towards the kitchen and the couple snuck out of the room, leaving her oblivious parents arguing and plotting potential murder plans.

Emma laced her hand in his and led them out into the shaded backyard where they, like many times before, laid down on the grass staring up at the shifting clouds.

"How long have you been waiting?" Emma asked, tucking her head onto his shoulder.

"Hours." He sounded tortured and traumatized and she couldn't help but giggle at his misery.

"Sorry, they're a little…"

"Oh, I say I've gathered enough information about them. I have a sneaking suspicion that your father doesn't like me very much and though your mother is significantly friendlier—I find her to be the intimidating one…"

"Yeah. You saw her in there! I'm actually afraid that she might kill Drizella." On that note, he propped himself up to look at her.

"How are you doing with all this?" Staring up at the sky, she was going to say that she was okay; that it wasn't that big a deal. Then she looked into those cerulean eyes of his, staring down at her knowingly, and she admitted the truth to the both of them.

"It was horrible. They were either watching my every move or trying to act like I wasn't there. I could feel the tension in every place I went. God," she rolled her eyes, "you should've seen everyone in the diner today—whispering, afraid to look at me, some looking at me way too much. Yeah, I'm not happy about people knowing, but I think I could have lived with it… I just can't stand being pitied like that, you know? It's the worst feeling in the world."

"I remember," he mumbled, his thumb brushing over that light little scar on her forearm. She looked down and saw what he was tracing on her skin and pulled him down beside her.

"You let my mom know how I was doing last week. Did you tell her about that, too?"

"No. That'll only stay between us if you want it to."

"Thank you," she said quietly. Her eyes started to smile with love. "You know, for taking care of me and being there and just… everything." Their lips barely brushed as spoke gently against them.

"My pleasure, love."

Inside the house, Mary Margaret and David stood, no longer screaming and just holding each other.

"I know you're upset."

"I know you are, too. At least we let out a little steam. You're not still murderous, are you?" David joked.

"Honey," Mary Margaret evaded the question and looked around the empty room. "Where are the children?"

"Emma!" David called out a little too harshly, taking note of Killian's absence, too.

"Oh, David, hush. She's an adult. See, they're in the yard," she said peeking through the window. "No! Don't go out there! You stay here."

"But I want to talk to my daughter—who I was forbidden to see by you for two weeks. I got a full three minutes with her before _someone _in here started preparing for war and that guy out there stole her away, _again._"

"They'll come in when they're done talking."

"What _are_ they talking about?"

From the window, David could see Emma examining Killian's hand.

"You left work early if you were here long enough for my parents to whip out the torture devices."

"Right you are."

"So… Someone must've said something to you at work then."

"You're too clever for your own good."

"You haven't seen anything yet," she mumbled, lifting her other hand and trailing her fingers along his knuckles. "Who was it?"

"The boys. Leroy. _Jefferson._" He tried to cool down his tone. The last thing he wanted was Emma finding out about how that vulgar bastard was talking about her. When would he learn that he couldn't fool her? She squeezed his hand and dug her fingers hard into the rivets of his knuckles.

"You winced. What happened to your hand?"

"…Accident at work." He glanced up at her, but lowered his eyes instantly to their intertwined hands. He should also know better than to look at her while bending the truth.

"Killian." That glance he gave was enough confirmation for her. "I've scrapped enough growing up to know your fist didn't accidentally hit someone."

"Little rusty," he said dryly. "Guess it's a sign that I'm getting a little too old for schoolyard fights, yeah?"

"Must've been Jefferson because it definitely wasn't Leroy."

"He's had it coming for a while," he smirked, relishing the image of him crumpled on the floor nursing his bleeding face.

"Yeah, but he said something about me, didn't he?"

"He was being rather… insensitive. So I corrected him." This was so surreal. She went from being a nobody in the big city to the talk of the town here in Storybrooke. It was bizarre to think that just earlier today her name must've been dropped in _multiple_ conversations.

"I think the best thing I can do right now is go back to work. Force people to deal with me—to prove them wrong. I'm not some helpless little girl. That's really my only option besides hiding."

"Not true. We could move," he suggested.

"We can't move—my parents are here; the house is here. I love them both too much to leave."

"Yeah, I love the house, too." Emma punched his shoulder playfully.

"But not my parents," she read his mind.

"Eh. I like them well enough." Killian tilted his head back and caught David staring at them through the window. "I think we've been caught."

"Time to convince the old man," she breathed out and grabbed onto Killian; her anchor in all this mess.

They dusted themselves off and made their way back to the kitchen where David tried to look like he was casually hanging out.

"You two disappeared on us," David said icily and Mary Margaret shot him a look.

"Just talked out some stuff," Emma replied and sat down in one of the chairs opposite of her parents, Killian by her side. "I do not approve of murder, for starters, so if either of you are planning that, cut it out."

David laughed while Mary Margaret gave a tight-lipped smile that translated to 'No promises.'

"I think that I've had enough of a vacation from the world. Time to get back to work and make things normal again—I mean, I'm sheriff. I should remind people who they're really talking about."

"But you're also our daughter and if you're not comfortable, then don't push yourself. You've been going through a lot," Mary Margaret reminded her.

"Of course I'm not comfortable. I haven't been comfortable for the last five months with all that stupid wedding stuff, _but_ I'm a big girl and I like this town and living here. So, yeah, everyone knows more than I'd like them to. It really sucks and, yeah, I'm not totally over it yet, but I don't want them feeling sorry for me. They're not going to stop if they see my parents taking care of me or hear I won't leave my house. I'm not going to let that bitch—whoops, _sorry mom_."

"If the shoe fits, dear," Mary Margaret chimed with a subtle undertone of malice.

"The point is that she's going to think she's won and I don't want her to think that. So, there. I'm getting back on my feet and that's that." She turned to look at her dad who didn't seem very happy. "Dad, you're _going_ to tell Graham to let me go back to work."

"I still think you should take more time for yourself."

"I took two weeks. For days all I did was pay attention to my feelings. I just want to take a break from that and do something to keep my mind busy," Emma concluded.

No one was going to change her mind and if she wanted to make sure she wouldn't get sucked into the feeling of dread she'd been fighting all day, then she just had to power through it. Killian gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She could get through this if she just took it one step at a time. It was the trend in Emma Swan's life-to survive, but this time she wasn't alone in it; and she drew as much strength from that as she could.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"You know she told you in the first place to try to break us up," Emma remarked, making herself a sandwich back in, to Killian's delight, their home.

"What a horrible plan that was. You couldn't get rid of me whether you wanted to or not. I'm afraid you're stuck with me forever, darling. Also, when is your father going to stop trying to crush my hand every time he shakes it?"

"Never."

"We've been together for over a year and living together for two. He's going to have to accept me _sometime_."

"Why, Killian. I didn't know you were so concerned about my father's approval."

"I wasn't, but during the time you left me there for torture, your mother cornered me about certain holidays that I managed to avoid spending with them last year." Emma was tempted to look back at him. Seeing him suffer over these holiday plans with her parents was hilarious.

"Like Thanksgiving?"

She hadn't been too thrilled about them either in the beginning, but she had to admit they weren't as horrible as she imagined. Besides, she didn't have the 'But mom, we just started dating,' excuse to cover for him anymore.

She stayed where she was and lifted her sandwich to take a bite then felt arms circling around her.

"As per tradition, I celebrated your turkey themed holiday with Graham just as I always have," he said defensively and seeing her raised sandwich, leaned forward and stole a huge bite.

"Hey!" Emma pouted. That was hers…

"I'm sure your father gave thanks that I wasn't there."

"So did you tell her about Graham?"

"I tried. She said she'd make him go, too. I am also required to wear a costume this year; participate in their haunted house; install Christmas lights on her roof; and assist with the End of Summer festival coming up," he whined then abandoned her and took up her sandwich instead.

"I hope you know you're making me another one, buddy," she grunted. "It sounds like you're her new holiday slave; my dad can't go up ladders anymore. What did she order you to do at the festival?"

"Assemble a stage and whatever nonsense they need for the pageant. She gave me special instructions to build a trap door for Drizella to fall through while up there."

"So much for no murder, mom, and are you serious? She actually thinks that people here like her enough to make her Miss whatever? Yikes. She's more delusional than we thought," Emma laughed into her wine glass.

"I have to say, I rather like this side of you—claws and all. You know how you could really get under her skin…"

"No."

"I think you'd look darling up there flitting around in a flowery dress—"

"Stop it."

"No competition, if you ask me. No offense to the other ladies, of course."

"Yeah, they'd pick me because I'm the former orphan with the tragic backstory. No competition when you count pity votes. I'll have to find another way to piss her off."

"We could always get married and flaunt around our love. Seemed to work the first time," Killian said half-jokingly and waited for her reaction. He wasn't sure she had even heard him and if she did, she didn't make it known. She leisurely took another sip.

"If this is you proposing," Emma finally spoke, "then I have to say it's not very romantic considering it'd be to get back at Drizella." She had on her best poker face and it was driving him crazy that he couldn't read her.

"Are you saying I should save it for another time?" Killian inquired.

Emma took up her glass and casually said, "Maybe." Then walked passed Killian taking another sip. He followed her out into the living room and watched her relax into the couch, watching the fire.

"Emma."

"Yes, Killian."

"Are you giving me hope right now?"

"I'm not _not_ giving you hope right now," she said demurely, staring into her glass which he then removed from her hand and set on the table. He pulled her onto his lap and she wrapped her arms around his neck. She could see his eyes bright with life.

"I don't want to scare you, love, but you just made me the happiest man in the world," he whispered.

"Maybe one day when all of this is behind us I can make you even happier," she whispered back. Her heart was racing, but she did her best not to let it show. She didn't know what she was doing right now. She didn't know what she was thinking or saying. Everything was just tumbling out on its own accord and though her heart felt like it was going to burst from overworking, she couldn't help but notice how right the words had felt.

"I really love you, Killian Jones."

"Emma Swan, how could you not?" Like that she snapped out of her sentimental moment and smacked his head. "Words, darling. Use your words."

She stared up at him stubbornly and pulled him forward to capture his lips. She kissed him so fiercely that _he_ was the one that had to break away for air.

"That works, too," he breathed out, smiling against her lips. She was scared right now at the promise she was giving him, but maybe in the future she wouldn't be.

Just like one day, she wouldn't be scared of what people were saying about her.

Just like she wasn't scared of calling Mary Margaret and David 'mom and dad;' wasn't afraid she'd have to spend the holidays alone; wasn't worried to let someone see her cry or call her sweet things that made her heart flutter; wasn't afraid to pour her heart out to the friends that she actually had now.

Petty revenge was starting to sound good, but she didn't know if she could ever do something like that contest. Who knows, maybe she would just give Killian a hand with that trap door.

**A/N: Don't you love Mama Nolan/Snow? ;D**


End file.
